


Let's Hurt Sam

by sUNkIsSt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Dean Winchester, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Prompts please, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sUNkIsSt/pseuds/sUNkIsSt
Summary: A series of unconnected one-shots featuring Limp Sam and big brother Dean. PROMPTS OPEN! Characters to be added as more chapters are written!...Chapter 10: Location – Demons get the drop on the Winchesters; they've heard about the secret bunker and they want its location...Set in Season 8, right after the boys discover the bunker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Idea....
> 
> Hey guys! I’ve just recently caught up on Supernatural, I watched season 13 and 14 over the last week and of course now I’m in the mood to write the boys again. Since I always write hurt/comfort one-shots – heavy on the Limp!Sam, I’ve decided it’s about time I take prompts, so many amazing authors have done this and I figure it’s about time I get in on the fun! 
> 
> My writing is sporadic, which is why I rarely write multi-chapter stuff - but I want to try this, especially now that we are heading into the final season of show. Please send your prompts to me by way of a review or PM – I can’t promise I will write all of them, inspiration will need to strike! 
> 
> Notes:  
1\. Make your prompt as detailed or as basic as you want, I can’t guarantee that I will be able to incorporate everything, it really all depends on the flow of the story.  
2\. Sam will be whumped/sick etc. either mentally or physically (it’s kind of my speciality haha.  
3\. I don’t write slash (sorry)!  
4\. I’m not a doctor, so anything medical will be completely made up. I don’t typically go too technical when it comes to hospital stuff, but I can try.  
5\. When will it end? Who knows! 
> 
> Those are the basics, if you’ve ever read any of my stuff before, you’ll have an idea of what my typical style is. The prompt and whoever suggested it will be posted at the bottom of each story. I’ll start us off with something small to get the ball rolling!

* * *

**Burn **

**.**

**.**

Sam groaned from where he lay on the motel room bed, an arm thrown over his eyes as he willed his head to stop pounding. His brother moved around the room softly, but even the sound of the older hunter picking up his keys caused him to wince.

“Sammy,” Dean spoke, his tone deliberately low and soothing, “I’m gonna go grab you something for that migraine.”

“Mmmm.” Sam managed through gritted teeth, not noticing that Dean was standing beside his bed until a cool cloth was draped across his forehead. The pain eased slightly, and the younger man opened his eyes by a fraction of an inch, his older brothers form coming into focus – albeit a bit blurred around the edges. “M’fine.” He muttered, able to see the pinched look Dean had and hating the worry he was causing.

Dean rolled his eyes and squeezed his brother’s shoulder, “Yeah, and I’m freaking Madonna. Rest kiddo, I’ll be back in forty minutes tops.” He waited until Sam grumbled in agreement before moving towards the door. The hunter checked the salt lines carefully and made sure the blinds were shut tight before leaving reluctantly, casting one last look at the younger man before he stepped out into the night.

* * *

He drove faster than he probably should, green eyes peeled for the closest pharmacy. The motel they were holed up in was pretty far off the beaten bath, the closest town a twenty-minute drive away – but Sam had been fading in the car, his mouth bracketed with barely contained pain and Dean had just wanted to get him into a bed.

It was the visions, whatever was going on in his little brothers’ head, the psychic crap or whatever, the migraines that came after were getting increasingly worse and while Dean was trying hard not to worry, he was rapidly losing that battle. This wasn’t something he could just fix, and it was driving him crazy. All the older brother could do was feed the kid painkillers and try and keep him hydrated.

He hated leaving Sam alone when he was in so much pain, and vulnerable to attack – but Dean hadn’t realized that they were out of painkillers until after he’d gotten Sam into the room, and he didn’t have the heart to drag him back out to the car for a forty minute errand. Still cursing himself under his breath for not checking the first aid kit after coming off their latest hunt, Dean’s eyes found the bright lights of the local pharmacy.

Pulling the Impala into the first available parking spot, Dean hurried into the small store, grateful that they were still open even though it was approaching midnight. An older man at the counter, presumably the owner, looked up from the clipboard he was holding and offered a friendly smile that creased his eyes.

“Evening sir, what can I help you with?”

Looking around the empty aisles, Dean answered, “I need something for migraines and nausea.”

“Ah, sick kid at home?” The man inquired, coming around the counter and leading Dean to a far corner.

Dean shrugged, “Something like that, yeah. My little brother.”

“Just how little is he?” The pharmacist asked as he walked.

Frowning, Dean looked at the man with suspicion. “He’s twenty-two, why?”

Looking surprised, the man held up his hands in a placating manner, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry – I just wanted to know so I don’t recommend the children’s dosage.” Turning from Dean, he plucked a bottle from the shelf, “This should help. Make sure he drinks plenty of liquid.”

Dean relaxed, shoulders dropping as he took the bottle offered to him. “Yeah, I know – hey, you know anywhere that’s still serving food? I should probably try and get some soup into him; kid hasn’t eaten all day.”

“Actually yes, drive south down Main street, make a left at Beaker, you’ll find Sal’s Diner, they should have what you need, they don’t close until one on Saturday.”

Paying for the medication, Dean nodded, “Great, thanks.”

* * *

* * *

** _Meanwhile…_ **

At first, Sam assumed his brother returning was what woke him. He shifted in bed, his head still pounded horribly, and he had no desire to open his eyes– even with the lights in the room off. Laying still to quell his rolling stomach, his ears picked up muffled shouting from outside.

Despite the misery he was in, Sam could sense the panic in the air. “Dean?” He rasped hopefully, disappointed but not surprised when he didn’t receive an answer. _Can’t have been asleep long then, _he thought to himself. Knowing he needed to see what was going on outside, he took a deep breath – bracing himself to stand up and investigate.

At least, he _tried _to take a breath and then choked almost immediately, gagging on smoke. The coughing caused his migraine to explode, rocketing up to what he would call a twenty on a pain scale of one to ten. Rolling to his side without thought, Sam vomited up bile before staggering to his feet. The room was dark but now that his eyes were open, he could see the smoky haze in the air.

He choked again, amazed at how fast the smoke had entered the room. Stumbling, Sam made for the door and towards the panicked voices – no doubt other guests who had escaped their rooms for the safety of the parking lot. His hand grabbed the handle and he let out a surprised cry of pain when his palm was instantly burned.

Growling, Sam ripped off the t-shirt he had fallen asleep in and used it to cover the handle, twisting it to the right easily. Unfortunately, when he tried to push the door open it wouldn’t budge. _What…? _Cursing, Sam used his shoulder to slam into wood, but it didn’t move an inch. Backing away on unsteady feet, he coughed violently and squinted through the thickening smoke.

Something blocked his exit, and the hunter could see flickers of orange through the closed blinds. Sam wrenched them open, his stomach dropping when he saw the wall of debris and orange flame that now obstructed his view of the parking lot.

Coughing uncontrollably, now nearly blind from the smoke and the horrible pain in his head, Sam dropped to his knees, mind whirring as he gasped for air. He’d been out of it when Dean had half carried him in here. He hadn’t even used the bathroom yet, going straight for the comfort of the bed –

_Wait._

_The bathroom! _Sam thought to himself desperately. He didn’t know if there was a window in there, let alone if he could fit through it, but it was his last hope. He could feel the room heating up quickly, his exposed skin was slick with sweat and his hair stuck to his forehead.

It was the bathroom, or he was toast. Gagging, Sam tied his sleep shirt over his mouth and nose quickly, ignoring the flash of white-hot pain as he knotted the shirt tightly at the back of his head. Staying low, the youngest Winchester army crawled to what he hoped was freedom and Dean.

* * *

**_Sal’s Diner_ **

Dean waited at the counter impatiently, checking his phone for the time and glancing at the lone waitress, whose nametag read Stacey. She sensed his anxiety and offered a smile, “It’s almost done, Jeff was just taking the soup off the burner to pack it up.”

Nodding gratefully, Dean turned his attention to the small TV mounted by the till. He watched without really listening as the late-night weatherman talked about the possibility of showers in the morning.

The small ding of a bell echoed through the empty diner, and Stacey propped her mop in the corner with a wink at Dean. “Sounds like order up to me. Just a sec.”

Any other night, Dean would’ve taken that wink from a cute girl and ran with it, but not when Sam was hurting and waiting on his big brother. Standing, he pulled out his wallet to pay for the soup and sandwich he’d ordered for Sam (okay, the sandwich was for him – he hadn’t eaten all day either).

“Here you are.” The waitress smiled again, handing over the bag full of food. Dean grabbed it by the handle and handed over one of this phony credit cards. He waited impatiently for Stacey to run the card through the old scanner, trying not to let the annoyance show on his face when she struggled to get the card to read.

“Breaking news!”

The voice from the TV was clear in the empty diner, and Dean turned to look. The color drained from his face; green eyes wide with horror when the news cameras panned to the Sleepy Hound Motel – the one he had checked into barely an hour before.

“The fire has spread rapidly, Tom. We don’t have any information yet as to the cause, but we do know that there are several people trapped inside. Firefighters are attempting to work through the debris to reach these rooms.”

_Sam._

_Sammy! _

Heart thundering against his ribcage, the take-out bag slipped through nerveless fingers. Dean turned and sprinted for the Impala, ignoring the startled shout from the girl behind him. The hunter threw himself into his car and ripped out of the parking lot, leaving the bewildered waitress still standing at the till with his credit card in her hand.

* * *

The fire was still blazing when Dean skidded into the parking lot. His eyes watered automatically at the intense heat as he bullied his way through the crowd of onlookers, most of them still wearing their pajamas and looking at the building with horror. Shouldering past a heavyset man who was staring transfixed at the flames, Dean called out for his brother. “Sam! Sammy?!”

His brother was nowhere in the crowd, and Dean felt his stomach flip with worry. Sam had been so out of it from the migraine and exhausted from the last two hunts. _What if he’s still in there? _Dean ducked beneath the hastily placed police tap, sneaking by a distracted cop before breaking into a run in the direction of the room he had rented.

Dean staggered to a stop when he rounded the northwest corner. “No…” He whispered, eyes taking in the scene. The entire front facing section had collapsed – the doors from rooms 110 to 120 were gone, buried in a pile of flaming debris.

Looking at the room key in palm, Dean stared at the number stamped on the keychain.

**116**

“No!” He said again, this time shouting his denial. Dean sprinted for the debris, ready to pull each flaming chunk of wood away piece by piece. He was getting to his brother. “Sammy!”

A police officer intercepted his path and Dean brought up a fist, ready to knock out anyone who dared get in his way, only to have his wrist grabbed by a firefighter. “No! My brother is in there!” He snarled, struggling as another police officer ran over to help restrain him.

“Sir!” The first cop tried, “Sir, stop! You can’t go in there, let the firefighters work or we’ll need to contain you.”

Dean continued to fight against the three men, determined to reach Sam. “No! SAM!”

“Sir, I’m sorry but there’s nothing you can do.” The firefighter spoke gently, releasing Dean and looking him straight in the eye. “My men will do their best to find your brother, but this section of the building has completely collapsed.”

Dean felt the fight go right out of him, he stared at the older man – the Captain, with a look of devastation. The cops let go of him cautiously and fell back a step. He staggered under the crushing grief that hit him like a wave, a strangled sound in his throat.

_This can’t be happening._

Whirling away, Dean slammed his fist into the side of the closest ambulance and roared out his grief.

“SAMMY!”

** **

* * *

** _Meanwhile…_ **

Sam came to with a start, coughing and spitting out bile, his nostrils flared as he tried to take in the somewhat fresh air. Struggling to his hands and knees, he looked around blearily and realized that he was in the back section of the motel. He remembered getting through the bathroom window, the relief he’d felt when he had seen that window was something he wasn’t likely to forget. He had managed to crawl some distance from the flames before passing out.

Struggling to rise, Sam leaned up against the back of a large dumpster, uncaring that his bare skin was touching the filthy metal. Still breathing through his nose, he closed his eyes and tried to decide if it was worth it to try and stand. _How long has it been? _He wondered, trying to think past the pounding in his head. He could hear the babble of voices from the other side of the building and guessed that it hadn’t been too long since his escape.

_Thirty Minutes? Forty? _

His heart clenched when he thought of Dean, his big brother would be frantic with worry. Winchesters and fire didn’t exactly have a great track record. Decided, Sam used the dumpster to slide up, his legs wobbled as he gained his feet. He needed to find his brother and let him know that he was okay – before Dean did something stupid like run into a burning building to save him – _again_.

Sam concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, stopping frequently to spit bile and cough the smoke out of his lungs and throat. The air around him was miles better than what it had been like inside, and the fire hadn’t spread to where he was– but the air still tasted like burning wood and plastic. The youngest Winchester knew that he should also be freezing, it was mid February and he was wearing only sweatpants – but he was warm and that likely meant the fire was still burning hot somewhere.

He could see flashing lights as he staggered out into the parking lot, hazel eyes taking in the scene. No one noticed him as he swayed on his feet, still partially concealed in shadow. Sam looked around, unsure of where to go and searching for his brothers face. The crowd out to his left were talking excitedly, and the emergency crews were barking orders – but he still heard his name over the din.

“SAMMY!”

Blinking, Sam stretched out a wobbly hand in the direction of the voice, heart twisting at the grief in the cry. “Dean.” He croaked before another violent cough ripped through him, one hand went to his chest and the other to his head as it spent spikes of agony to both areas. Struggling to breath, he took only a second to gather himself before pushing forward.

* * *

**_Back to Dean…_ **

Head and forearms resting against the side of the ambulance, Dean closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening. Shoulders shaking, his hands moved to the back of his head and he turned around to face the fire and the end of his entire world.

He just so happened to catch it out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his right, Dean lasered in on the shape making its way clumsily through the swirling smoke. Wearing only sweatpants, Dean could see the thin layer of soot and ash that coated his little brother’s chest and face.

It took a second for his brain to process what his eyes were seeing, and he nearly fell to his knees in relief before stumbling forward at a dead run. “Sammy!” He called, reaching his little brother just as the taller man staggered. Sam fell directly into his arms and Dean brought them to the ground in a controlled fall. “Jesus Christ Sam, don’t fucking do that to me again.” He growled; eyes wet.

Sam hacked against his shoulder, “Dean, y’good?”

Dean barked out a semi-hysterical laugh. “I’m friggen’ peachy.”

“M’not wearing a shirt.”

“Yeah – good thing I hadn’t gotten around to unloading the Impala. We'll grab you a shirt outta the car.” Dean answered, pulling out of the hug to look at the kids face, Sam looked like hell. “You need a hospital?” He asked seriously, shucking off his leather jacket and wrapping it around his brother.

The younger hunter made a face and shook his head, automatically trying to stand back up, eager to get away before one of the emergency workers found him.

“Whoa, hey okay slow down.” Dean protested, shifting his hands so that Sam could lean against him as they rose up together. The kid teetered and coughed again, but his eyes were stubborn. “Alright,” The older hunter relented, leading his brother towards the Impala, “But I’m keeping a close eye on you, Sammy, and if I decide you need a doctor you better not be a baby about it.”

Huffing, Sam leaned against his brother’s solid form, “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah? You sound like you're about ninety years old and smoked three packs a day since you were eight.” Dean replied bluntly, one arm wrapped around the kid’s waist.

“Don’t be a jerk.” Sam whined; eyes closed against the flashing lights, trusting his brother to steer him safely towards the car.

“I won’t be a jerk if you stop being a bitch.” Dean shot back, but there no rancor in his tone, just fond amusement.

“You suck, dude.” Sam groaned, but the corner of his mouth ticked upward and the pain in his chest and head somehow didn’t feel as bad as it had only moments before. He allowed Dean to guide him into the Impala, leaning up against the cool windowpane with a sigh of relief.

He heard the driver’s door creak open and then close, not bothering to open his eyes as Dean turned over the ignition. Body relaxing, Sam dozed off to the sound of the rumbling engine and his brothers even breathing.

**END**


	2. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 – Curse: 
> 
> Dean has benched his little brother after completing the second trial, so Sam is organizing items in one of the Men of Letters rooms, working on his online catalogue. He accidently touches a cursed object. Cue a lot of screaming and a frantic big brother! 
> 
> This takes place in season 8, between ‘Taxi Driver’ and ‘Pac Man Fever’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of unconnected one-shots featuring Limp Sam and big brother Dean. Prompts are OPEN!

** Curse **

Sam coughed into his hand, clearing his throat irritably as he grabbed a tissue to wipe off the small amount of blood on his skin. He moved slowly amongst the dusty shelves, every bone in his body was aching with exhaustion even though he had gotten plenty of sleep the night before. The Trials were really starting to take a toll on him now, loathe as he was to admit it.

His big brother was shadowing him constantly and was stubbornly refusing to take hunts after Sam had completed the second trial two weeks ago. It was starting to drive the younger hunter crazy, even though he understood why Dean was doing it – if the situation were reversed, Sam knew he would be just as bad.

Still, when Dean had tried to sneakily take his temperature two nights ago, Sam had finally had enough. He might not be able to hunt, at least not until his body had recovered somewhat from his recent trip to Hell and Purgatory, but he didn’t need to lay in bed all day and do nothing. That’s how he found himself in one of the bunkers many rooms, looking over the dusty shelves at items that hadn’t been touched in nearly a hundred years.

When he’d told Dean about his idea to itemize everything into a digital system, the older man had given him his patented, _you are such a geek_ look before shrugging his shoulders, “Sure Sammy, go nuts.”

Yawning, Sam rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a small moment of weakness since Dean wasn’t around to see it. His head had started to throb again, yet another headache building even though he’d only been up for a few hours. Cursing under his breath, the younger hunter blinked and forced his eyes to focus on the bright screen of his computer.

He’d give himself another half hour to finish up the third storage bin, and then he’d sneak off to his room for a quick nap. With luck, Dean wouldn’t even notice – he’d already been down an hour ago to bring him soup and water, that should buy him some time before his brother came to check on him again.

Mind made up, Sam looked over the items in the container sitting beside the laptop, tired hazel eyes taking in the jumble of objects. His head felt fuzzy, and he coughed again as he reached in to grab a book off the top of the pile, wondering absently why the old tomb wasn’t in the expansive library. If he hadn’t been sick, his usually sharp mind would have screamed ‘_Don’t Touch_’ – but as it was, Sam was hurting and exhausted, and so he opened the book without thinking.

He didn’t even have time to register that the pages were blank, the tomb fell back into the container as Sam’s knees buckled, he hit the floor hard - his entire body writhing as he screamed.

* * *

Dean was in the War Room with a crystal decanter in hand, ready to pour himself another generous helping of the seventy-five-year-old whiskey he’d discovered stashed in the kitchen the day before. The amber liquid was smooth, and the older hunter needed the drink to mellow out a bit. His nerves were frayed with worry for his little brother, and a little self-medication went a long way.

He knew he was driving Sam nuts with the mother hen routine, and Dean hoped a couple of glasses of the smoky drink would maybe tamp down the desire to go and check on him again. At least for the next couple of hours. Sam was tucked away in one of the storage rooms, looking through old items and doing his geek boy thing – it didn’t get much safer than that, right?

He froze, crystal poised over the tumbler on the table, when the screaming began. Dean blinked; eyes creased in a moment of confusion – because he had never heard a sound like that before. It was primal, raw and terrifying. _That can’t be human._ It wasn’t until he heard his name, a fraction of a second after the screaming began, that Dean realized who was making that awful noise. His stomach dropped to his toes and he jerked violently in stunned realization.

“Sam.” He breathed.

The decanter hit the polished table and rolled off, hitting the floor with a crash and sending shards of crystal flying, the rare whiskey spread out on to the floor and soaked into the hardwood. Dean didn’t notice any of this as he flew out of the room and down the halls, calling out to his brother frantically.

“Sam!” He bellowed, skidding round the last corner and grabbing on to the doorframe to stop his momentum. The hunter took in the sight before him, to his brother screaming and seizing on the ground, to the open storage container on the table. Sliding to his knees, Dean grabbed the younger man’s shoulders and tried to stop Sam from slamming his head into the hard floor again.

“Sammy!” He tried again when his touch garnered no response. His heart thundered in his chest, eyes taking in the blood that coated Sam’s lips and speckled the front of his sweater as he sobbed in terror. It was mainly wordless, but Dean flinched when his own name was occasionally decipherable amongst the garbled screams and whimpers. “Sammy what the hell happened, snap out of it damnit!” He tried to yell over his brother, but the kid didn’t respond. The younger hunter was as pale as a sheet, his eyes screwed shut and his body tense as he howled on the ground, completely oblivious to the world around him.

It took Dean back to when the wall in Sam’s mind had started to crumble but dialed up to a hundred. His gut wrenched at the thought and he tore his gaze away from the taller man, feeling sick with desperation.

Looking around wildly, Dean leapt up and twisted in a circle, his eyes landed on the open pages of an old book almost immediately and he lunged forward. He slammed the thick tomb closed with a snarl and his fingers touched something wet on the cover, pulling the digits away, he saw small spots of blood. _Cursed book? _He thought to himself almost immediately, digging into his pocket and pulling out the lighter he always kept on him. 

“Hang on Sammy.” He spoke grimly, teeth gritted as he held the open flame to the corner of the book. Dean knew he was taking a risk by burning the object, but there was no time to research an alternative – Sam was still screaming, but he was also choking on blood and spit, his chest heaving. The kid was seconds away from a terror induced heart attack and instinct told the older brother that he needed to act _now_.

The book finally caught and went up in a whoosh, Dean stepped away from the flaming object with disgust and dropped back down to Sam, who had gone silent at last. “Sammy? Sam, you with me now?” He asked, fingers pressed against the pulse point at his brother’s throat, he sighed with relief when he felt the strong beat beneath the skin.

Sam’s eyes fluttered twice before opening – he looked up at his brother in bewilderment. “Dean?” He tried to ask, but his raw throat burned, and no sound escaped.

Dean ran a shaky hand through his hair and nodded reassuringly, “Yeah, you’re okay. You touched a cursed book, but I took care of it.”

Squinting, Sam suddenly shuddered on the floor. “I...I think I was being burned alive.” He managed to croak, his face showing a rare moment of undisguised fear that made him look twenty years younger.

Clenching Sam’s shoulder tightly, Dean swallowed and tried to smooth out his features. _Is that what you sounded like when you were locked up with Lucifer? _He thought to himself with quiet horror.

“Help m’up?” Sam asked, distracting Dean from his thoughts as he struggled to rise.

Dean automatically guided Sam over to a chair and deposited the shaky form into it gently. He watched as Sam dragged a clumsy sleeve over his mouth and chin, wiping up the blood that had escaped. “You feelin’ okay?” He asked.

Sam nodded and attempted a reassuring smile, “Yeah, no worse than usual. Bit tired.”

“You look like roadkill.” Dean argued, taking in the pale face and the drops of blood on the light grey hoodie his brother wore.

Shrugging, Sam waved a hand carelessly and deflected, “Why didn’t the book get you as well? The second I opened the thing it whammied me.”

“Blood was on the cover; I’m guessing you coughed on it before you peeked inside?” Dean asked with a raised brow, continuing before Sam could answer, “I think the blood activated the curse, nasty piece of work. Only you would get taken out by a damn book, Sammy.”

Sam snorted and shook his head, drinking from the bottle of water Dean had brought down an hour earlier, “Shut-up, jerk.”

Dean didn’t laugh, his green eyes serious when he spoke again, “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off, take a breather – we can watch some bad movies on cable.”

Sighing, Sam found he didn’t have the energy to argue and instead nodded in agreement. Deans face was almost as pale as he imagined his own was, the freckles around the older mans nose stood out in stark contrast to the white skin. He watched Dean visibly sag with relief and knew he’d made the right decision.

And the following afternoon, when Sam felt up to continuing his work and returned to the storage room, he didn’t call his brother out on the surgical mask and gloves that sat on his laptop. He rolled his eyes at the sticky note that was placed beside the items, a winky face drawn sloppily on the yellow paper, and sighed with fond exasperation.

After a moment of consideration, he shrugged his broad shoulders and put on the gloves, shoving the mask into the front pocket of his sweater in silent compromise.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: oooPennywiseooo - Cleaning out a room in the bunker, Sam finds a cursed object.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a review and/or a prompt. This story took shape almost as soon as I read the suggestion, I hope you enjoyed it Pennywise. Looking forward to hearing more ideas! 
> 
> Best,  
Ashley


	3. Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 – Drugged: Sam wakes up cuffed to chair, a needle in his arm feeding him a cocktail of drugs that make him groggy, sick and uncoordinated. He must fight through the drugs to reach his brother before it's too late.  
This takes place in season 13, Jack has disappeared and Castiel is off searching for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of unconnected one-shots featuring Limp Sam and big brother Dean.

** Drugged **

**.**

**.**

********There was something pinching his forearm, spreading a warm heavy dullness from the site. Sam moaned, head rolling weakly as he fought his way back to consciousness. He looked around blearily, trying to bring the dim room into focus. Swallowing past the nausea building at the base of his throat, his eyes found the source of his discomfort.

The hunter cursed, hazel eyes taking in the needle that was taped to the crook of his elbow, he followed the line up to the bag of drugs that the witch had hooked him up to. "Sonuvabitch." He slurred out, weakly struggling against the cuffs that bound his wrists and ankles to the dentist's chair. He thought hard as he attempted to wiggle out of the binds, trying to remember what the hell had happened.

He could easily recall that they'd been on a hunt, trying to blow off some steam after Jack had disappeared the week before. The case had been simple enough, some crazy ass witch was attempting a ritual using the blood of firstborn sons. The two had figured out fast that _'Buckets o' Crazy'_ – as Dean had taken to calling her – was trying to resurrect her dead big brother using necromancy.

But whatever spell she was using wasn't working properly, five men had been killed over the past four months – and the most recent? The younger brother had been found in the same alleyway as his sibling, both drained of blood and cold to the touch.

At that point, the case had struck a raw nerve for both Winchesters, and once they'd narrowed in on their target, it had been a quick decision to draw her out by presenting themselves as bait. The plan had apparently worked a little too well.

Sam snarled in frustration, flexing his wrists as he wriggled against the cuffs, satisfied when he was able to rub his right wrist raw enough to draw blood. He knew where he was now, an abandoned dental office on the outskirts of town – the witch had apparently been a hygienist before taking up the craft and was now using the basement storage area to practice her dark magic.

His wrist now slick with blood, Sam gritted his teeth and tried to make his hand as small as possible – the one good thing about being drugged? The pain he should be feeling was dulled and he was easily able to dislocate his thumb in order to slip through the cuff. Clumsily, he used his now free hand to rip the needle out of his left arm.

Sam squinted, trying to focus on the restraint, using the needle to pick the lock. It took longer then it normally would, but he kept at it, eyes blurring a few times over before the mechanism clicked. Lurching upwards, he used the same trick to free his ankles, leaning over twice to throw his lunch up on the dirty tile.

Images of the dead vics danced across his vision, and Sam set his teeth as he swung off the chair and stood up. He immediately swayed and crashed into the moldy cabinets that lined the right side the room, sending a metal tray crashing to the ground with a clatter. He cursed again, trying to find his footing and casting about for a weapon – desperate to get to his brother before it was too late.

The ritual took time to prepare before the final ingredient was required – namely his brothers sacrifice, and Sam could tell from a glimpse outside that it wasn't quite sunrise, but he didn't truly know how much time had passed and he was anxious to find Dean.

The weapons he'd been carrying when they'd entered the house had been stripped from him, but Sam spotted a silvery instrument on the far side of the counter and grabbed it up, satisfied that it was at least sharp and pointy – it would do the job; he'd taken out bigger things with less. Stumbling from the room, Sam trailed a hand against the wall in order to keep his balance, his vision darkening around the edges as more bile threatened to come up his throat.

He fought the symptoms, moving with single minded determination, not even noticing the blood smear he was leaving on the peeling paint from his bleeding wrist. Finding the stairs that led to the basement, Sam took a deep breath and gripped the railing tightly, willing himself to not trip and send himself sprawling down the steps – that'd be a great way to ruin the element of surprise.

Reaching the bottom with a small measure of relief, Sam concentrated and could hear the babble of voices from the first room off the narrow hall. The female voice was reaching a crescendo, shrieking out words in an ancient language as she reached the end of her spell. Lurching around the corner with his weapon clenched tightly in his fist, the young hunter had only seconds to take in the scene before he needed to act.

The witch had her back turned to the door; a wicked blade was poised above her head - the tip lined up with Dean's chest. His big brother was seconds away from a painful death but was still trying to sweet talk his way out of trouble, his tone even and measured. Sam was probably the only person – drugged or no, that could see the beginnings of panic in his green eyes.

Sam moved forward without hesitation, bringing up the pointed instrument and driving it sideways into the witch's neck with as much force as he could muster. She choked on the last word, the knife fell through her numb fingers and Dean let slip a yell as the sharp blade fell towards him. Shoving the dying woman away, the younger Winchester reached forward and caught the weapon before it could meet his brothers bared skin.

The two brothers froze and blinked at each other; the knife gleaming between them.

"Nice catch." Dean finally broke the silence, breathless.

Sam shot him a wobbly grin before promptly leaning to the side and puking up the last of the contents in his stomach.

"You good?" Dean asked, wincing as his brother gagged and spit on floor.

Nodding drunkenly, Sam used the knife to saw at the thick ropes that bound his brother to the stone slab, careful not to nick his skin.

"Sure you are." Dean muttered under his breath, rubbing his chaffed wrists as he hopped off the slab and reached for his brother, "C'mon, lets get your ass home so you can sleep it off, Sasquatch."

Sam mumbled something unintelligible, but it sounded like an agreement to the older man. Dean grabbed his ruined shirt off the floor and guided his loopy brother out of the dark basement.

"And thanks Sammy, that was close." Dean added, rolling his eyes when he felt Sam sloppily pat him on the head in response.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt: Shannanigans - I'm a fan of anything involving drunk/drugged/concussed Sammy and awesome Big bro Dean! I'd like something from a recent season or maybe your idea about hurt Sam in the premier coming up!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Baykok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Sam and Dean are hunting a Baykok when things go terribly wrong. Set in Season 1.

* * *

**Baykok**

"You think it's a what?" Dean asked, twisting the cap off his beer and taking a swig. He and Sam were in Henderson County, Illinois, checking out several reports regarding mysterious disappearances in the local forest. At first, they'd assumed it was a Wendigo, but after spending a few days speaking to the locals it had become clear that they were dealing with something completely new.

"A Baykok," Sam repeated patiently, clicking through different web browsers, "It's a mythical creature in Native American lore, supposedly they're skeletal warriors who died a dishonorable death."

Dean frowned, "Dishonourable?"

"If they were in the act of performing a particularly terrible crime when they died." Sam elaborated with an offhand a shrug, "Fratricide was a big one." He leaned back in his chair and nodded in mute agreement at the look of disgust that flashed across his older brothers face.

"How do we gank the bastard?"

"It's essentially a spirit, so a salt and burn should do the trick – but finding the bones might be an issue."

Dean raised a brow in silent question.

"They can't move on because the families of those they've wronged scatter the remains across the forest – we're going to need to narrow down our search before we head into Big River, it's about 3000 acres." Sam explained, grinning when his brother groaned theatrically.

Sitting down heavily, Dean pulled the laptop towards him so that he could glare at the image of the Baykok on the screen. "Alright geek boy – where do you want to start?" He asked, holding up a finger before Sam could answer, "Let me guess, the library?"

White teeth flashed at Dean from across the table and the older man sighed.

"How'd I freakin' know?"

* * *

_ **Black River Forest** _

Two days later found the Winchester brothers entering the state forest under the cover of darkness. The fall night was cool, their breath misting the air as they grabbed supplies from the car. Dean slammed the trunk lid closed and tossed the duffle to his brother, offering the younger man a shit eating grin when Sam caught it automatically.

"Aw c'mon, it's your turn to carry the gear." Sam bitched, even as he hung the strap over his shoulder.

Looking down at his sawed off, Dean double checked the shotgun to ensure that it was loaded with the salt cartridges. "Big brother privileges, Sammy."

Snorting, Sam shook his head in disgust, "You really need to cut the Sammy crap, my name is Sam."

"Sure, Sammy."

"You suck, Dean."

Heading into the dense brush, Dean flicked on his flashlight and called over his shoulder, "You can whine later," He paused and smiled at the spluttered sound of indignation Sam emitted, before continuing, "Right now we have a fugly to toast. Which way?"

Muttering darkly under his breath, Sam drew up beside Dean before answering, "Northwest – we should be pretty close."

The brothers had gotten lucky, only a few days of further investigation had been needed to figure out that the hikers had been attacked within a five-mile radius of each other. The only survivor had explained that he'd stumbled across a trail of bones with his hunting buddies.

"_Bill picked up the skull, he_ _thought it was cool. And then all hell broke loose."_

In other words, the guy had woken up and subsequently pissed off the Baykok by messing with its remains.

The two hunters walked in silence; the teasing put on hold as they neared the area where the attacks had taken place. Sam swept the flashlight beam across the ground – looking for any hint of the remains while Dean kept his own light trained ahead. The older hunter heard the noise first, nudging his brother and tilting his head with a raised brow.

Sam shifted the duffle on his shoulder and nodded, pointing to his left. The shrill cry had been no more than a faint echo, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was the Baykok. The lore had been clear that the creature would fly through the woods and shriek out its anger. It also liked to shoot its victims with arrows, but the younger Winchester didn't bother dwelling on that bit of information.

Honestly? They'd dealt with worse things. The wendigo at Black Water had been pretty bad, he'd almost lost Dean and so soon after Jess had died…

Startled out of his thoughts by a rush of unnatural wind, Sam cursed himself for the split second of distraction – hazel eyes sweeping the dark foliage. Another shriek pierced the autumn night as he and Dean pressed forward – they were close now; both men could sense it.

"Down!" Dean suddenly barked.

Sam dropped without thought, instantly hitting the deck as his brother's gun fired above his head. The Baykok screamed in rage, visible for only a second before disappearing into thin air.

"Sam?"

"I'm good." Sam answered truthfully, tone even as he brought his own weapon back up, "The remains have to be around here somewhere."

Nodding in agreement, Dean replied, "Keep looking and I'll watch out for the bastard – I hate when they can do the invisibility shit."

"At least they can't keep it up when they actually go in for a kill." Sam reasoned, it was a lucky thing – the Baykok could swoop around invisible and shriek all it wanted, but if it wanted to kill it had to choose between stealth or attack; it didn't have enough energy to do both at once.

Moving forward again, Dean stayed out in front while Sam picked through the brush. The Baykok swooped at them three more times, but the salt cartridges kept it at bay. Unfortunately, the second shotgun jammed after the third attack – and Sam shoved it back into the duffle with an annoyed huff.

"It's fine," Dean reassured as they entered a small clearing, "I'll keep it busy while you look for the bones. Keep the extra salt on you."

Sighing, Sam nodded, "Be careful Dean, remember that the arrows don't manifest until they hit something."

Dean grunted back, "I'm the one with a weapon, you be careful. Watch your damn neck – supernatural assholes always go for it."

Flipping his brother the bird, Sam rolled his eyes before turning away to look for the bones. It took fifteen minutes of meticulous searching before he unearthed the first pile. "Dean! You good?" He called out as he gathered the remains together.

"Hurry the hell up!" Dean snapped as he attempted to keep the Baykok distracted, the salt was barely deterring the bastard and he was also trying to stay close to his brother so that he could watch his exposed back.

"Dude! It's not exactly easy – " Sam paused, using his canister to hit the creature with the rock salt when it manifested a little too close for comfort, he turned to reassure Dean before he could even ask, "It's gone and I'm fine!" He moved a little faster though, hands brushing dead leaves and branches out of the way as he continued his search.

Dean cursed in frustration, feeling like a jackass as he dodged around the clearing – ducking projectiles that he couldn't see, his direction only guided by the general position that the monster took before it fired. "I'm tired of being this things target practice." He complained, snarling when he stumbled over a rock hidden in the fall leaves, just barely ducking behind a large tree in time. A quick peek around the trunk revealed a black arrow buried two inches into the bark.

Distracted, Sam called back, "The human skeleton has a lot of freaking bones if you hadn't noticed!"

"No shit Sherlock – it's not like I haven't dug up about a hundred damn graves in – HEY!" Dean stopped mid-sentence, fury on his face when the Baykok turned towards his brother again. The hunter unloaded his shotgun, sending the spirit shrieking back into invisibility before it had time to aim at Sam. "Sammy our plan is pooched – it knows what we're up to now."

"I've almost got them all."

Running back towards Sam, Dean flicked the spent shell casings away and reloaded quickly – green eyes on alert. "Well move your ass, the bastard is all over the place and – "

The Baykok roared in rage, manifesting not ten feet away from where the brothers stood. Dean turned away from Sam and fired – he didn't see the second monster that had unexpectedly appeared behind him, its bow taught and pointed directly at his vulnerable back.

Eyes widening with horror, Sam realized that they weren't dealing with one but two spirits. _That's why it seemed like the damn thing was everywhere! _The Baykok had itself some backup. "DEAN!" He shouted in warning, leaping forward and abandoning the small pile of bones he'd collected. His thoughts went briefly to the useless shotgun sitting in the duffle bag, knowing that he only really had one option left.

Dean twisted immediately, but he didn't have time to do more than think _oh shit,_ before Sam tackled him to the forest floor with enough force to take the air out of his lungs. The men fell in a tangle of limbs, but that didn't stop the older Winchester from coming up on one elbow and firing at the newest spirit within seconds of hitting the ground.

The clearing went silent as the two Baykok disappeared and Dean grunted, "Fuck – how the hell did we not know there were two? Now we need to find a second set of bones – dude, I hate these things."

Sam coughed in response, and Dean's skin immediately prickled – his internal big brother alarm going haywire. "Sammy?" He questioned, grabbing his brother's shoulder and gently turning him so that he could see better. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes immediately found the black arrow shaft protruding from the kid's chest.

"Ow." Sam managed, eyes dazed as he looked up at his big brother with confusion, "Dean?"

"Hey, hey it's okay. It's okay Sammy, I'll take care of it." Dean answered automatically, silently amazed at how calm his voice sounded. He caught Sam's wrist when the young man brought up one arm, trying to reach the thin piece of wood that was partially buried into his skin.

"Take it out?" Sam whispered, not quite pleading.

Dean shook his head, trying hard not to let panic bleed into his tone as he answered steadily, "We can't, Sammy. You understand me? It's gotta stay in there until we can get your ass to a hospital. Okay?" He hated denying his little brother, but he knew taking the arrow out was about the worst thing that they could do.

Swallowing thickly, Sam nodded. He blinked a couple of times, seeming to come back to his senses just in time to croak out a warning, "Dean, behind you."

Dean felt the presence before Sam got through saying his name, he turned with a snarl and fired off two shots in quick succession. He didn't pause to watch the angry spirits dissipate, turning his attention back to his little brother. He dragged the duffle, fortunately only a few feet away, over to Sam's side and hastily dug through it. Pulling out the med kit, he tore it open and grabbed the gauze and tape, tearing at the packaging with his teeth. "Okay, I'm just gonna tape this up, we need to keep it stable until we can get out of here."

"Y-yeah." Sam agreed, trying to keep his breathing steady. He forced his eyes away from the arrow sticking out of his chest and made himself focus over his big brother's right shoulder, "I'll keep a l-look out."

Dean squeezed Sam's knee in return before getting to work, wincing in sympathy each time he accidently disturbed the arrow and caused the kid to gasp. It felt like it took forever to tape up the area around it, but it took the experienced hunter only minutes from start to finish. "How you doing Sammy?" He asked as he inspected his work, frowning at the small spots of blood already appearing on the previously white gauze.

"The B-Baykok?" Sam chattered instead of answering, his face starting to go pale from shock.

The hunter in Dean battled with his brotherly instinct. He wanted to bail out and get Sam to the hospital, but the two spirits weren't about to just let them walk away – he needed to take care of them before he'd be able to get Sam help. "Okay, I'm gonna start a fire and start burning those bones. Think you can watch my back?" He asked, voice serious as he placed the shotgun and extra ammo on his little brother's lap.

Sam shifted, using the tree Dean had braced him against to straighten up slightly. "'Course I can." He answered, white face etched with grim determination as he wrapped his fingers around the gun.

Nodding sharply, Dean jumped back to his feet and drew a sloppy salt circle around the taller man. He doubted it would do much good, but he hoped it would at least slow down the two spirits. Moving quickly, he pulled out the gasoline and built a small but hot fire, throwing in the bones Sam had already found and sprinkling them with salt. The shotgun blasted behind him twice, right above his head, but Dean didn't even flinch. "Sammy?" He called out, even as he scrambled around the clearing in a frantic search for more remains.

"Good, keep looking…" Sam answered back, but Dean could hear the breathless quality to the words and cursed to himself. _We are in serious trouble if the bones aren't all nearby, _he thought darkly.

Dashing back and forth, the older hunter threw bones indiscriminately into the fire – dodging several attacks from the spirits with Sam's help. His quick pace was rewarded when he heard the telltale shriek of a spirit being destroyed. He didn't pause to watch the bastard burn, instead he turned back to Sam. "Hey, how you feeling?" He asked, dropping down to his knees and peering into the kids face.

"M'fine." Sam coughed, "Still one l-left." He waved off the hand that tried to feel the pulse point in his neck, muttering under his breath. As if to illustrate his point, the remaining Baykok manifested just outside of the salt circle, its glowing red eyes bright with fury as it screamed. Sam aimed his gun upwards and blasted it full in the face.

Ears ringing, Dean scrambled back up and resumed his hunt for the bones, widening his search area. _How many more can there be?_ He thought to himself furiously, flinging what looked like part of a human jaw into the flames. A sudden wail answered his question only seconds later, and the older hunter let out a short breath of relief before hurrying back to Sam.

With the danger now gone, Sam slumped backwards – the weapon falling limp across his knees. The adrenalin rush faded and the pain in his chest bloomed and deepened. He offered his big brother a small smile when Dean dropped back down to his side, trying and failing to reassure him.

"Alright kiddo, lets get you out of here."

Dean shoved everything back into the duffle and positioned it so that the strap lay across his chest. With both hands free, he reached for Sam. "Just let me do all the work. Try not to move too much." He instructed, wrapping one of Sam's long arms around his neck. Counting to three, the two men rose unsteadily. Dean grunted with the combined weight of the weapons bag and Sam's lean frame, staggering when the kid sagged against him.

"Okay, one foot in front of the other." Dean encouraged, trying hard to not flinch in time with his little brothers choked gasps.

"Y-yeah." Sam panted.

The two shuffled forward - moving maybe two dozen feet before Sam needed to stop and catch his breath, he tried to lean forward but Dean stopped him with a palm to his shoulder, "Sammy don't, you might shift it."

Coughing, Sam brought up the blade of his hand to shakily wipe at his mouth, surprised when it came away with blood. He stared at the dark liquid, looking at his big brother with glassy eyes. "Dean? I…" He started, voice fading as his knees buckled.

Dean was ready for it, widening his stance so that he could brace Sam against his side. He shook his brother gently, "C'mon Sammy, stay with me. Don't make me carry your ass out of here by myself." He smiled a little at the wobbly nod he received in reply, "Thatta boy. Just a little bit further until I can get a signal, alright? I won't even make you hike all the way back to the car. Sound good?"

A part of Dean wanted to leave Sam right there and walk out for a signal on his own – but he couldn't make himself leave his brother, and he had a feeling Sam would just try to follow him if he tried.

"Mmm…" Sam hummed in agreement, stepping forward with one large foot.

Dean moved with him and the two continued their clumsy pace, the older keeping a close eye on the younger. His concern grew exponentially as Sam deteriorated before his eyes, and he tried hard to not show how freaked out he truly was. When his cellphone finally picked up on a faint signal fifteen minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, this is good."

Careful to leave the arrow shaft undisturbed, Dean gently guided his brother back to the ground, and the younger man folded all too willingly. Throwing his leather jacket over a small boulder, he leant Sam against it before dialing the emergency line. He kept one hand on the younger man's neck and caught his eye as the phone rang out, "It's going to be okay, I'm gonna take care of you."

Sam struggled to stay conscious, trying to focus on Dean's worried face, but it was pointless. His body was in shock and wanted to shut down, and the youngest Winchester had forced it to keep going for too long. Now that he wasn't moving, there was no stopping it.

_I know you will, _he wanted to say as the darkness closed in on him, the forest and Dean fading away as he passed out.

* * *

Awareness came back slowly, and the first thing Sam latched onto wasn't the dull pain under his collarbone, the sterile smell in the air or the steady beeping that was somewhere over his head. His ears picked up on deep and even breathing, and he turned towards it with his eyes still shut. He could smell a familiar combination of aftershave and gun oil and immediately thought _Dean._

Opening his eyes, Sam blinked several times and brought the blurry shape of his brother into proper focus. Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, he didn't speak as he took in Dean's sleeping form.

His big brother was slumped over the hospital bed, head cushioned against one arm, his other hand inches from Sam's own wrist. It was clear that Dean was beyond exhausted, obvious by the stubble covering his cheeks and the black smudges under his eyes. Sam wondered how much time had passed since the hunt, and just how bad his injury had been. Hesitantly, he shot a glance towards his own chest, he could feel bandages covering the wound and saw nothing but the pale blue hospital gown he was currently wearing.

Quiet movement at the door caused Sam to look up, and he made eye contact with a night nurse making her rounds. She smiled at him and opened her mouth to say something, but Sam shook his head slowly and nodded towards his sleeping brother. Dean hadn't so much as twitched, which told Sam all he needed to know. _It must have been a close call, _he concluded, _he probably hasn't slept in days. _

The nurse confirmed his suspicions only moments later, coming to stand by his bed – she inspected the monitors and the IV bag that was feeding some sort of clear liquid into the back of his hand. "He's been worried sick." She whispered to him, "I'll need to get your doctor, she'll want to know that you're awake – he will, too."

"Just a little longer, he needs to rest." Sam rasped, turning on what Dean called his 'puppy dog eyes', relaxing when the nurse nodded hesitantly. "How long has it been?"

"Going on five days." She replied quietly.

Sinking into the pillow, Sam digested this information grimly, his heart going out to his brother. As shitty as it was to be hurt in the hospital, he'd take being the one in the bed over sitting vigil beside it. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean agreed with that sentiment.

"You'll need to speak to doctor Brown, but you're going to be just fine." She reassured him, taking his silence for worry. Putting his medical chart back in its spot at the end of his bed, the nurse gave him a motherly pat on his blanket covered shin before heading for the door.

Sam nodded absently, not paying attention as she slipped out of the dim room. He turned his head back so that he could see his brother, letting the reassuring rise and fall of Dean's shoulders ease him back to sleep.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
The Prompt:supernaturalsammy67: Sam gets hit with their own arrow when they go out hunting a creature they thought was one becomes two. in the fight Sam loses the weapon and in the skirmish ends up the target. Dean has to face 2 creatures and field medics his brother the Winchester way.
> 
> Thank you for the prompt supernaturalsammy67 – I know that this isn't exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you liked it regardless. Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews, I love reading what people think!
> 
> Best,  
Ashley


	5. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5: Whiskey - With the Mark of Cain burning away on his arm, Dean picks a fight with his brother. Sam leaves to diffuse the situation and ends up in the middle of an armed robbery.
> 
> This takes place during season 10, during the Mark of Cain story arc. For the sake of this story, Cas has some of his mojo, just not his full bar. I can't remember what his power status was at this point in the show, but I'm pretty sure he was taking grace from other angels to juice himself up.
> 
> Anyways…just run with it – cool? Cool!

* * *

** Whiskey **

**.**

**.**

_ **Men of Letters** _

"Dude, what the hell!" Dean bellowed, striding into the library angrily.

Sam frowned from his position over the table, straightening up with a look of tired confusion on his face. "What?" He asked cautiously, forcing his eyes to stay on his brothers face and not slide down to where the Mark of Cain lay hidden under a dark shirt sleeve.

"The Macallan 25, that's what!" The older man raged, his face dark with fury. He brandished the empty whiskey bottle in Sam's face before slamming it down on the table.

Trying hard not to flinch at the darkness in his brothers usually clear green eyes, Sam took a slow breath and answered calmly, "I didn't touch your whiskey, Dean. Not that one." He looked at the bottle sadly, it'd been a gift from Bobby to Dean a year before the Leviathans had killed their surrogate father. The younger hunter knew how much it meant to the older man.

Dean snarled and the Mark burned as he slammed a fist down beside the glass, nearly toppling it. Some small part of him knew that his anger was coming from the thing on his arm – but most of him didn't give a damn. "How could you drink it?" He continued, completely ignoring Sam's denial.

"I didn't!" Sam repeated, with a little more heat. He was exhausted and running on only a few hours of sleep. While he'd managed to bring his brother back and cure him from being stuck as a demon, he was desperate to find some way to get the Mark off Dean. The older man was struggling to keep his temper at bay in the best of situations and Sam knew that if he didn't figure something out, and _quickly_, that things were going to take a turn for the worse - again.

"Well then who the hell did, Sam? Huh? There's no one else around, it had to of been you!" Dean ranted.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, of course he knew exactly who'd finished off the whiskey. It'd been demon Dean – when he'd gotten loose inside the Bunker and had tried to kill him. He distinctly remembered Dean drinking it– a few final ounces that the older hunter had been saving. Dean had then proceeded to come at Sam with the bottle above his head, eyes narrowed and black as pitch.

The demon in Dean had tried to bash his brains in with the glass that was currently sitting innocently between them. Of course, Sam wasn't about to tell his brother that if he didn't remember it – what was the point in upsetting him further? "Listen, I'll go out and grab you something else, okay?" He tried to appease instead, sliding his chair out and away from the stack of books he'd been going through.

Throwing his hands up into the air, Dean snapped, "Oh yeah? Gonna go to the local Grab N' Gas and pick up another six hundred-dollar bottle? Just forget it, Sam. Way to fuck up again." The older Winchester felt a definite twinge of guilt after the words left his mouth, but his anger quickly buried it – the Mark on his arm basking in the conflict.

Sam paused in the act of putting his jacket on, trying hard to not let the look of hurt on his face show. Logically, he knew it was the Mark making Dean act in a way he normally never would, but the painful twist in his chest didn't know that. "I'll be back soon." He spoke after a moment of tense silence, voice low.

"Whatever. Don't take the Impala." Dean grunted before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room without a backward glance.

Swallowing, Sam placed the keys in his pocket on the table before heading to the garage. He'd take one of the junkers to town instead.

* * *

Looking around as he drove through the darkening streets, Sam pulled into the parking lot of the biggest liquor store he knew of. Glancing at his watch, he sighed in relief when he noted that he'd made it just in time – the place would be closing in ten short minutes. Unfolding his long legs out of the small car he'd taken from the bunker, he stretched out cramped muscles as he breathed in the cool air.

It was late November and bitter outside, icy flakes drifted from the sky in a flurry that promised a lot of snow. The small plaza was deserted, and his drive from the bunker had been quiet – most of the locals staying out of the approaching storm. Heading into the store, Sam noted that it was empty save for the cashier at the front. He didn't miss the annoyed frown that flashed across the young girl's face. "I'll be fast." He assured her before moving quickly to the back aisle.

Hazel eyes ran through the large selection of whiskey, and Sam considered several different options – knowing that it didn't really matter which one he grabbed. None of them could replace the gift from Bobby, even if he'd been able to afford something that expensive. Of course, he could easily just throw it on one of the phony credit cards, but even after all these years, the younger Winchester only used them when it was necessary. Regardless of how many times he and Dean had saved the world, Sam still didn't feel right stealing.

He finally settled on the Johnny Walker Blue after glancing at his watch and noting that he only had a few minutes left. Sam walked back to the clearly impatient cashier, the girl looked like she was barely eighteen, and he remembered absently that it was a Saturday night – she probably had a party or something to get to. Setting his purchase on the counter, Sam offered her a small smile as he pulled out some cash.

The bell tinkled behind his shoulder, and Sam only had a half second to register the girls face turning white, her blue eyes wide with sudden fear. Spinning towards the door, he automatically reached behind his back for the gun he always carried, cursing when he remembered that he'd left the bunker unarmed. Sam eyed the two men that rushed inside, stepping in front of the scared teenager instinctively.

"Move!"

The business end of a .45 was suddenly in his face, but Sam looked beyond the weapon and noted the wild gleam in its owners' eyes. He recognized the look of an addict searching for a quick fix and knew that he needed to act quickly, before the innocent girl behind him got hurt. The bottle of whiskey was in his hand, and the hunter swung it hard, striking the masked man across the face.

He didn't pause to see the guy go down like a felled tree, Sam leapt over the counter and grabbed the trembling girl, bringing her to the ground even as the second robber bellowed in surprised rage and fired his gun. He glanced at her nametag before placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "Hey Jessica, stay down – don't move until I say it's safe. Okay?"

Jessica looked at him with wet eyes but managed to nod, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. Sam tried not to think about Jess – even after all these years and all the crap that had happened, he still felt an old pain in his chest when he was reminded of his long dead girlfriend. He flashed the scared teenager a crooked smile before crawling away from her, moving some distance before jumping back to his feet. "Hey!" He barked, ducking behind a display of chips when the second guy turned and fired again.

Sam moved backwards through the store, luring the armed man as far away from Jessica as he possibly could. Once satisfied with the space put between the two, he circled back and grabbed a large bottle of wine on his way. Moving forward quickly, it took three long strides to come up behind the criminal and take him out in the same manner as the first. Red wine spilt across the floor as the bottle broke against skull, and Sam bent forward to grab the gun out of lifeless fingers.

Hurrying back to Jessica, Sam called out, "Okay, it's fine now." He stepped over the limp forms on the ground before stopping in front of the teenager – who was staring at the two men on the floor with shock plain on her face.

"You John Wick or something?" She choked out, both hands braced against the counter.

Sam huffed out a short laugh and shook his head. "You going to be okay?" He asked, face full of concern as he took in her shaking form. He placed the gun on the counter quickly, thinking that it might make the situation more stressful.

Jessica opened her mouth to answer, but her eyes flicked down and to the left, and she let out a surprised shout instead.

It happened within the space of two breaths.

Twisting, Sam made eye contact with the first guy - the one he hadn't disarmed in his hurry to get to the girl, _stupid mistake, you idiot!_ He brought up a hand in a futile attempt to stop what was about to happen, but the younger Winchester didn't have a chance to do more before the gun went off.

Sam's world went white with excruciating pain. The hunter was oblivious to the horror filled screams of the girl behind him as his long frame sagged, he didn't see the shooter bolt from the store as his knees buckled. He hit the floor, blood flowing from his head and pooling on the tile; Dean's imagined but anguished face flashing before his eyes as everything slipped away.

* * *

_ **Men of Letters** _

Wandering through the bunker restlessly, Dean checked his cell phone again and sighed when he saw no missed calls or messages from his brother. Sam had left over an hour ago, enough time for the anger in the older hunter to dissipate, leaving only a strong feeling of guilt in its wake. Rubbing irritability at his upper arm, Dean walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Grabbing a beer, Dean tossed the cap onto the counter before sinking into the closest chair. He was still mad – Bobby's final gift had meant a lot to him and he'd been saving it for something special, but he hadn't meant to go off on his little brother like that. Sam had been through hell these last few months trying to save his ass, and Dean couldn't blame him for wanting to take the edge off.

Taking a drink, Dean considered calling his little brother. He knew Sam had left in order to let him cool down, knowing that the Mark of Cain was prone to flare up when the brothers were together for too long, but there was a helluva storm coming in and the car that Sam had taken from the garage was a piece of shit, it wouldn't hold up well on icy roads.

Unlocking his cell, Dean's finger hovered over the screen just as he heard the creak of a heavy door opening. "About time." He muttered, pocketing his phone as he stood up, carrying his beer towards the bunkers main entrance. "Listen, Sammy…" He called out, voice fading when he spotted Castiel making his way towards him through the library. Trying not to let his disappointment show, Dean greeted his friend, "Oh, hey Cas."

"Dean." Cas answered seriously, "How are you?"

Waving a hand, Dean shook his head and asked as causally as he could manage, "Fine, I'm fine. You didn't happen to run into Sam on your way in?"

"I did not. Is everything all right?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, "We had a fight and he took off."

The angel nodded, his blue eyes spotted the empty bottle of whiskey on the table and understanding dawned on his face. "You mustn't blame yourself, Dean." He advised sagely, head tilted in the direction of the bottle, "It wasn't you; Sam knows that."

"What?" The eldest Winchester asked, face etched with confusion, "What're you talking about?"

"You didn't hurt Sam." Castiel assured him, "He was able to disarm you quickly."

Dean glanced at the empty bottle before turning back to Castiel, a sense of foreboding settling over his shoulders. "Okay, what the hell are you talking about?" He demanded, heart sinking as Cas explained hesitantly.

"Shit." Dean cursed when the angel was done, staring down at his booted feet, "I thought Sam drank it, Cas."

Castiel frowned, "He didn't tell you?"

Shaking his head, Dean sat down heavily and looked up at the other man, "No! He probably thought it would make me upset or some dumb shit, god damnit Sam." Feeling like the words biggest asshole, he dug out his phone as he muttered darkly under his breath.

"I'm sure he was just trying to protect you."

Rolling his eyes, Dean growled as he scrolled through his contact list, "It's not his damn job to protect me, I'm the big brother around here." He was pissed all over again, but this time the Mark didn't react – he wasn't mad at his little brother – not really, he was angry with himself. He should've known that Sam wouldn't touch the Macallan. What had he been thinking?

_You weren't thinking, jackass. You didn't even listen when Sam told you it wasn't him. _Dean didn't notice Cas sit down opposite him, absorbed in his own self-recrimination as he finally landed on his brother's number. He dialed and let out a frustrated huff when he got voicemail. Pulling the phone away from his ear, Dean started to type out a quick text, thinking that maybe the kid was ignoring him, when the opening notes of _Black Dog_ suddenly filled the room.

He didn't bother looking at the caller ID, answering quickly, "Sam?"

"_May I please speak to Dean Brennan?" _

"That's me, who is this?" Dean confirmed automatically, making eye contact with Cas as the stranger on the phone continued to speak.

"_Hello, my name is Sean and I work at Jewell County Hospital in Lebanon, Kansas. You're listed as an emergency contact for a Samuel Brennan?"_

Swallowing, Dean forced his vocal cords to unfreeze and answered after a second's hesitation, "Sam is my brother, is he okay?"

"_I'm afraid I don't have that information, sir. Are you able to come to the hospital?" _

Rising, Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala off the table, "I'll be there in twenty minutes." He watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas rose as well, throwing Dean his jacket without a word.

"_Okay, please come to the emergency ward and give your name at the front desk. They'll be expecting you."_

Dean didn't bother saying goodbye as he turned to Castiel, seeing the silent question in his friend's eyes, "Hospital – Sammy is hurt but they won't tell me more. Let's move."

* * *

The drive to the hospital was pure agony. Dean sped recklessly in the snowy darkness – Castiel a grim shadow in the seat that belonged to his brother. Even in the terrible weather they managed to shave eight minutes off the drive. Dean didn't even bother to look for a parking spot, pulling right up to the sliding doors and leaping from the car – trusting Cas to take care of the Impala.

He hurried into the busy entrance, eyes catching the front desk immediately. "Hey," He spoke urgently to the woman manning it, "My brother was brought in, Sam Brennan. I was told to come here."

The lady glanced up at him, and Dean saw her eyes visibly soften by whatever she saw on his face. Looking at her computer, she asked for his name as she typed and nodded in confirmation, "Yes, I'll have someone come down right away to bring you upstairs. Just sit tight for a moment, sir."

"Does it say what happened?" Dean demanded.

"I'm sorry sir, you'll need to speak to the doctors."

The hunter turned and paced away, rubbing at his face as he tried to tamp down the worry that was threatening to overwhelm him. A hundred different scenarios ran through his head, each one more nightmarish than the last. Dean barely noticed when Cas put a warm hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Dean," The angel spoke in his customary low timbre, "It's going to be okay, I'm sure that Sam is fine."

Nodding sharply, Dean took a breath and told himself to stop acting like a baby. "Yeah." He said after a second, focusing on his friends face, "Yeah, you're right. It's probably fine, no big thing." _Except Sam would never go willingly to the hospital, he'd have to be out cold, _a small traitorous voice at the back of his mind whispered. Trying to ignore this thought, the older brother looked around the room for a distraction – eyes immediately drawn to a young girl sitting in a corner, two police officers standing over her as she spoke.

Eyes narrowing, Dean recognized the uniform she had on, even under all the blood that soaked her shirt. "Cas." He said suddenly, "I know that girl – she works in town." Moving closer, the two men stood within earshot and listened as the teenager spoke to her shoes.

"We thought they were both out cold." She sobbed, hugging her arms to her chest tightly, "I s-saw it h-happening but it was t-to l-late. I tried to w-warn him but then the guy was sh-shooting and _God _there was s-so much _b-blood_!"

Before Castiel could stop him, Dean walked right up to the trio and spoke loudly, knowing instinctively that his little brother was involved somehow, "Do you know what happened to my brother? Tall guy with lots of hair?"

The two cops and the girl looked over at him with similar startled looks, but he caught the quick flash of understanding on the teenagers' face.

"Sir, this is a private – "

Dean was about to interrupt hotly, but his name being called at the front desk stopped him. Turning around and brushing by Cas blindly, he rushed over to the nurse standing beside the greeting area with a clipboard in hand. "Dean Brennan?" She confirmed as he came to a halt directly in front of her.

"How's my brother?" He growled, heart pounding in his throat.

Unphased by his tone, the nurse blinked and answered calmly, "Please come with me."

Sucking in a deep breath, Dean willed his blood pressure to drop, but if he didn't get some answers soon…Shaking his head, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched as he followed the nurse towards the elevator with Castiel on his heels.

They rode up to the fourth floor, and Dean swallowed back bile when he realized that they were being led directly to Intensive Care.

* * *

Left waiting in a small room with a TV mounted in the corner, Dean paced between the chairs like a caged lion. Castiel sat to the left of a well-used coffee maker and watched him silently.

Snarling, Dean threw up his hands in frustration, catching the angel's eye, "Why won't they tell me anything?!"

Castiel was trying to find the right thing to say when a knock drew their attention to the entrance of the waiting room.

"Mr. Brennan?" A petite lady spoke softly, "The doctor will see you now, if you'd just follow me…"

Dean hesitated for a moment, a sense of dread falling over him as he glanced over at Cas with a scared look on his face. Now that the time had come for him to finally get some answers, he found that a part of him really didn't want to know.

Trying for a reassuring smile, Castiel sat up straight and nodded at his friend, "I will wait here, Dean."

Jaw clenched, Dean turned away and followed the girl out of the room. Whatever was wrong – no matter how bad Sam was hurt; Cas could always heal his brother. He couldn't bring someone back from the dead, not with the depleted grace he had left to him, but Sammy wouldn't be in the I.C.U if he was dead – _right?_

Distracted by these thoughts, Dean blinked when he found himself in a small office. He sat in the chair the nurse guided him to and barely listened as she explained that the doctor would be in momentarily. He looked around the room, eyes sliding from one degree on the wall to the next – not taking them in at all. The sound of the door opening and the soft click as it closed again made him jerk, snapping his neck up to look at the unassuming man who'd just entered the room.

"Mister Brennan, I'm Doctor Giles but please call me George."

_First name basis out of the gate? Not good. _He thought to himself grimly, trying to unlock his jaw to answer the man.

"Dean." He managed to grunt, eyeing the doctor warily as the man sat down directly across from him; hands folded on his lap. "Where is my brother?" Dean asked for what felt like the hundredth time. The Mark on his arm throbbed as his frustration mounted.

"Sam is only a few doors from us, we'll take you to him soon." George soothed.

"If you don't tell me what's going on _right now_, I swear to god…" Dean growled through gritted teeth.

George exhaled and grabbed the chart he'd carried into the room, consulting it for only a second before looking back up at the scared young man that sat across from him. "Sam was very badly injured, Dean. There was a robbery here in town and he was shot in the altercation."

"How bad?" Dean pressed, swallowing at the look of pity that flashed across the doctor's face. Sweat broke out on his skin, and he physically braced for what was coming without even realizing it, muscles tightening as his hands balled up into fists.

"Your brother sustained major trauma to his brain." George began carefully, "The bullet tore a clear path from just below his right eye and exited at the top of his ear." Setting the clipboard down, the surgeon used his fingers to indicate where the bullet had entered, tracing an invisible path to a spot behind his own ear.

Vision blurring; Dean felt himself sinking further into the plush chair. _The chair they sit poor saps in to give them bad news. _

"We did everything we could, but the damage was far too great." George spoke compassionately, hesitating when Dean lost three shades of colour in the span of seconds. He continued after a short pause, knowing, after years of experience, that it was best to get it out in one go and give the family time to digest the news, "We ran all the tests we could, Dean – but I'm sorry to say that Sam has little to no brain function left. The machines are keeping him alive, but I don't anticipate that we'll be able to keep him going for more than a few hours. His body is beginning to shut down."

The room spun around Dean, and he gripped the armrests of his chair like a drowning man in the ocean. His vision darkened at the corners, because hearing the words _Sam_ and _no brain function_ made absolutely no sense to him – they didn't belong in the same sentence, _ever_. His brother was a damn genius and he couldn't be brain dead, he couldn't…

"No." Dean choked out, shaking his head. He squeezed his eyes shut for a half second, taking a big breath to center himself. Sam needed him, there had to be a way – there was _always_ a way. "Take me to my brother. Now. _Please_."

Nodding, George stood at once. "Of course, I understand that this is incredibly difficult to absorb. If you'd follow me…"

* * *

If it had been anybody aside from Dean, they wouldn't have recognized Sam upon entering the room. The older brother barely made it to the bed, knees buckling as he staggered forward, fingers gripping the metal rails so tightly that his knuckles bleached white. "Sammy?" He whispered, disbelieving.

His little brother was unclothed save for a thin blue sheet, which covered Sam to his mid chest. From the neck down he looked almost normal.

The rest of him, however…

Dean shook, taking in the swathe of bandages that covered most of Sam's face. The younger Winchesters visible left eye was closed, every inch of his swollen skin bruised purple and black. The ventilator whooshed mechanically from the right, the kids face slack and completely lifeless even with the invasive tube down his throat.

"Sam." He choked out again, one hand hovered just over the bandaged head, wanting to touch but terrified to hurt him more. Dean finally settled on a shoulder, and he grimaced at the unusual chill to the skin. Tearing his eyes away from the damaged face, he took in the plethora of machines that were packed into the small room, heart twisting when he traced the electrodes that snaked from Sam's head to a small machine above the bed.

Dean knew he should be seeing more than the flat lines it currently displayed, and he had to work hard to hold back the sob building in his throat. He glared at the machine, willing the green lines to move, to do _anything_, anything at all. He didn't hear Cas come in until the angel stepped into his line of sight. "Cas…" He rasped, asking the question with only his expression.

Castiel was staring at Sam with a mixture of horror and sadness, but he pressed two fingers to the injured Winchester, closing his eyes as he concentrated.

Dean watched with bated breath until the angel took a step back. "Please Cas, tell me you can fix this." He spoke desperately.

"I…" Cas looked down at his feet for a moment, before facing Dean, "I can't. I can feel a whisper of Sam still, but I'm not strong enough to pull him back and repair the damage. Even as we speak, his presence is slipping away."

Dean didn't reply, but the room filled with a low keening noise that made the hair on Castiel's arms stand straight up. He spoke hurriedly, walking around the hospital bed to put a hand on the devastated mans back, "Give me a couple of hours. I'm going to try something that will help Sam."

The hunter didn't respond, shaking violently under the angel's light touch. Cas quickly pulled over a chair, tucked into the corner for visitors, and pushed Dean into it, being sure to not break the contact the man had with his little brother. "Dean." He tried again, tone low and rough. Dazed green eyes focused on him, and Castiel spoke quickly, "I'll be back soon, stay with Sam."

Nodding jerkily, Dean turned back to his brother. He didn't ask Cas what he was going to try - what he planned to do, or who would likely get hurt by doing it.

It didn't matter. _Nothing mattered but Sammy. _NOTHING.

"Cas." He called as the angel headed towards the door, he didn't look over as he spoke, every single part of him was centered on his kid brother.

"Hurry."

* * *

The wait for Castiel to return felt endless. His brother deteriorated with each passing minute, Dean watching helplessly as Sam's vitals took a nosedive - he was circling the drain. "Hang on Sammy, just a little longer. Don't you give up, you hearin' me? No quitting, little brother…not yet." He spoke quietly, leaning over the railing to get as close as possible.

His desperation increased as time stretched on, aching to try something, to do anything and not rely solely on Cas. This was his little brother, he should be _saving him_, damnit! But Sam was so close to the brink…Dean was terrified to leave, scared that the kid would slip away.

He ignored the staff that entered the room, eyes darting to them only when they touched his brother – watching just long enough to ensure that they weren't hurting him. He deliberately ignored the pity on their faces, refusing to believe what seemed obvious to them. When a doctor entered, not the one Dean had originally spoken to, and handed him a few slips of paper, he glanced at them half-heartedly, blood turning to ice when what he was reading registered.

It was a consent form for organ donation.

Snarling, Dean jumped out of his chair and strode towards the doctor, who was still standing just outside the room. He threw the clipboard hard, startling the man when it hit him off the side of his head and clattered to the floor. The Mark was hot on his arm, the heat spreading like lava as rage took over.

Dean wanted to grab the Sonuvabitch and beat his face to a pulp. Reduce him to a quivering bloody mess on the floor and make him feel even half the hurt that his little brother was going through. It was irrational and unfair, some small part of Dean knew that Sammy would _want_ to help others if he could, but his brother wasn't going to die damnit. Not tonight, not on his watch.

The doctor saw the raw fury and backed away automatically, eyes wide and hands up. It would have escalated; Dean was seeing red and there was a rushing noise in his ears that drowned out the people trying to calm him down. Fortunately, Cas turned around the corner at just the right moment. The burn on his upper arm dulled and Dean went from anger to anxiety within a split second. He turned away from the scared staff and hurried back to Sam's side, Castiel right behind him.

The angel closed the door, waiting for the people on the other side to walk away before turning towards the brothers.

Dean opened his mouth to ask, but it fell shut when Castiel began to emanate light. Stolen angelic grace shone through his skin, eyes an unnatural shade of blue as he reached out with two fingers. The older brother squinted against the light, not moving from Sam's side as his heart pounded frantically in his chest. _Please work, please. Pleasepleaseplease…_

Pleading silently, Dean stared hard at his brothers battered face even as the white light filled the room and everything went blank.

* * *

"…Dean?"

The familiar voice penetrated Dean's subconscious, bringing him roaring back to wakefulness. Eyes flying open, the hunter inspected his surroundings wildly, taking in his brother's sparse bedroom within a matter of seconds. He found Sam instantly, sitting against his headboard with a bewildered look on his face.

The hospital room was gone and with it the machines, including the horrible breathing tube. His little brother looked confused and freaked out, but he had that little furrow between his eyes – a sign that the kid was thinking too hard, _and definitely_ _NOT brain dead_. Up and moving immediately, Dean jolted from the chair he'd been slumped in and ate up the small space between them. Stretching out one arm to hook the kid into a rough hug, he buried his face into the long brown hair, hair that no longer hid a shattered skull.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam gasped, trying to speak despite the stranglehold his brother had on him. His fear spiked when he felt Dean shudder twice, clearly choking back tears, and he brought up a hand to pat his brother on the back. "Hey, hey…what's going on? You're freaking me out, man." He tried again.

Pulling away, Dean kept one hand on the back of his brother's neck and inspected his face closely. "Are you feeling okay?" He demanded, voice low and hoarse.

"I…yeah?" Sam answered, uncertain and a little intimidated by how intensely his big brother was looking at him, "Dean, last thing I remember is eating lunch."

"Are you _sure_?"

Taking a steadying breath, Sam nodded and answered with more confidence. "I'm fine, are _you_?"

Dean shrugged, forcing himself to remove the grip he still had on Sam's neck.

"Dean." Sam spoke forcefully, worry, fear, frustration and curiosity all present in the one word.

"Doesn't matter, Sammy. You're okay now."

"It sure as hell _does _matter!" Sam answered, incredulous. "I just woke up with nothing on but a _freaking blanket_ – which looks like it came from a hospital by the way. I can't remember a damn thing and you're looking at me like I was dead or something! Given our track record…Dean, _please_."

It was the quiet plea at the end that did it. Dean slumped a little, but he never broke eye contact with Sam, unable to tear his gaze away from the face that had been so broken mere minutes – _hours?_ _How long has it been since Castiel worked his mojo? _before.

"I started a stupid fight; you didn't even do the thing I was pissed about." Dean explained, voice low and heavy with guilt, "You left, _because of me_, and got yourself caught up in a fucking robbery. By the time I got to the hospital…" He paused for a second, nostrils flared as his jaw ticked. "The doctors, they said you were as good as gone. Sammy, you were…it was bad, okay? But Cas used his mojo and fixed you up. He must've taken us home before going wherever the hell he likes to disappear to. Probably left a mess of confusion at the hospital, too."

"How did Cas…?" Sam started to ask, trailing off when his big brother spoke over him.

"I don't know, Sammy." He said tensely, shaking his head, "He took off and then he came back all jacked up on grace. Honestly, I don't give a damn 'cause whatever he did? It saved your life."

_It saved _both_ our lives. I won't live without you again, I can't._

Dean didn't say it out loud, but Sam read the thought easily. "Okay." He relented, unwilling to push his brother further when he looked so wrecked. "Okay, Dean." He repeated softly, "We can figure it out later. But whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You got me?"

"Yeah, yeah okay." Dean agreed, scrubbing at his face for a moment before forcing himself to smile, "You must be starving, near death experiences take a lot out of a guy."

Sam wasn't an idiot, he recognized the clear attempt to change the subject, but he went with it regardless. He had no desire to cause the older man more pain, he'd done enough of that for one day, intentionally or not. "Yeah." He replied, not hungry at all, "I could use a bite."

"Great, good." Dean nodded sharply, he tried to force himself to rise and step away from his brother, but his legs felt as heavy as wet sand.

Seeing the internal struggle, Sam gave his brother a light shove on the shoulder. "Dude, get outta here, I need to put some damn pants on."

"Right – probably a good idea, Sammy. I saw enough of your naked non-ass when we were kids." Dean agreed, laughing a little as he let his brother push him off the bed, "Meet you in the kitchen?"

"Jerk." Sam rolled his eyes, "I'll be right behind you."

"Bitch."

The response was low, but the younger Winchester caught it as his big brother left the room, and his lips turned up in a small smile. They would be okay.

Weren't they always, in the end?

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.
> 
> The Prompt: Hyb1080: My prompt if you think is acceptable is: Sam and Dean get into a fight of some sort, with Dean blaming him for something that Sam did not do. Sam ends up getting hurt as a consequence. Of course, Dean realizes his error, and ... you decide.
> 
> Note: I think I'm going to make this a thing where I post on Sunday, of course the aim would be every week, but life is a thing so I can't make promises *shrugs* But yeah, look for updates on Sunday! Also, last season starts October 10th, exciting and a little sad eh? That's actually my birthday so not a bad way to celebrate!
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
Ashley


	6. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: Fever -Sam has worked himself to the point of exhaustion. Jack is back and cured, but he still needs to save Dean from the archangel locked in his head. Pushing himself too hard, Sam gets sick and scares the hell out of Jack.
> 
> This takes place in Season 14.

**Fever**

**.**

**.**

**Men of Letters**

Jack yawned widely, entering the kitchen as he rubbed at the grit in his eyes, it'd been four short days since his return from Heaven and he'd done nothing but sleep since. "Dean." He greeted, sitting at the kitchen table and blinking – despite all the rest he'd gotten, he still felt somewhat drowsy. Apparently coming back from the dead took a lot out of a being, even a Nephilim.

"Hey kid, morning." Dean spoke from the fridge, grabbing the milk jug before turning to face Jack, "You hungry?"

Considering the question, Jack looked down at his stomach when it growled in response. "Yes." He confirmed with a nod, thanking Dean when the hunter dropped a box of sugary cereal and a bowl in front of him. He ate quietly – the sugar slowly working its way into his system, and he felt the rest of his lingering exhaustion fade away. Jack watched as Dean fell into the seat across from him, a large coffee in hand. "Aren't you going to eat?" He asked curiously.

Dean shook his head in the negative, "Nah, I gotta run into town this morning and do a supply run. We are seriously low on essentials…and I want bacon."

"Ah, I see." The younger man replied before asking a follow up question, "Where are Sam and Castiel?" Jack took another bite of his breakfast, noting with some disappointment that the formerly crunchy pieces had turned soggy in the milk.

Seeing the look on his face, Dean rolled his eyes and topped off the bowl, smiling when the kid immediately dug into the fresh cereal with enthusiasm – Jack wasn't his brother, but the older Winchester couldn't turn off years of brotherly instinct, and the Nephilim reminded him of Sam in so many ways. "Cas left yesterday, don't ask me where – he does that sometimes." He answered over the crunching, "I forced Sam to bed last night, so he should still be sleeping." _I hope. _

Jack nodded, dropping his spoon back into the milky bowl. While he'd been in bed for the better part of the last week, he did recall how exhausted Sam had looked the day he'd returned from heaven. "He has seemed…worn out." He answered thoughtfully.

"He's been working himself too hard." Dean agreed, a small frown twisting his lips, "Sammy sometimes doesn't remember that he needs to take care of himself." _Sometimes? All the freaking time, _he thought privately with a snort. Finishing his coffee, the hunter rose from his chair – snagging the now empty breakfast bowl from in front of Jack. Dumping the dishes into the sink, he grabbed a hastily scribbled list off the counter.

"I'm gonna head out, I shouldn't be more than an hour or so. Can you let Sam know where I went, if he wakes up?" _Hopefully he sleeps until I get back. _

"Yes, of course." Jack replied, watching as Dean checked his cell phone before turning back to look at him.

"Thanks – call if you or Sam need anything, understood?" Dean waved his phone at the younger man with a raised brow. He didn't move until Jack nodded in confirmation, smiling a little at the hint of exasperation that flitted across his face. _You pick that up from Sammy? _Dean wondered, chuckling to himself and ignoring the confused look in Jack's eyes as he headed out of the kitchen.

"Back soon!" Dean called over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway.

Jack frowned, wondering what Dean had been laughing about as he stood. Heading towards the coffeepot, he poured himself a mug before considering the dishes that the older Winchester had left in the sink. Setting down his cup, he washed them and considered what he could do to help the two brothers, he owed them his life after all…and they'd both run themselves ragged trying to save him.

_Research, I can help Sam find a way to help Dean. _He thought, immediately anxious to begin right away.

Decided, Jack left the dishes to dry and headed towards the library, he wasn't sure where he'd start– but he could at least read _something_ while Sam slept. Dean still had Michael in his head, and Jack knew that the younger of the Winchester's would never fully rest until a way to save his brother had been found.

* * *

Upon entering the library, Jack discovered a pile of books already plucked from the shelves and stacked at the table Sam usually worked from. He walked over quickly, taking in the dusty volumes with curiosity before sitting down and grabbing the one closest to him. Careful to not disturb the papers on the desk, lest Sam lose his place, Jack opened it up and skimmed over the contents.

It was obvious that the younger brother had grabbed these books with the intent of going through them the night before, Jack could practically see Dean shoving him away and forcing him to his room. _This is as good a place to start as any, _he mused.

Settling into his chair, Jack sipped at his coffee while he read – enjoying the calm silence. The usual crowd of hunters had dispersed when he'd gotten sick, giving the four men time alone when it looked like he wasn't going to make it. Evidently none had returned since his revival, and Jack found that he didn't mind the quiet.

Reading through the text carefully, the minutes slipped away until a full half hour had passed. Jack looked at his now empty coffee with surprise before setting the mug down. He was just considering grabbing a refill when his eyes caught something that Sam had marked out on the page he'd just turned to. Squinting to read the text, he felt a flash of concern – Sam had excellent penmanship – in fact he'd heard Dean tease his brother on occasion for his 'girly writing', but Jack could barely make out the shaky scrawl.

_Storage room C? Row F?_

Following the wobbly arrow Sam had drawn, the Nephilim read what it pointed to. Rising from his chair, Jack stretched out his back before moving deeper into the bunker – he could find the book Sam had marked to grab from storage and then refill his coffee on the way back.

Making his way through the halls, Jack found Storage C without much trouble – he'd been in the bunker long enough now to know where nearly everything was. The area was far off from the main rooms, and it was obvious that it was rarely used by the dusty cobwebs hanging from the lights.

Opening the door, Jack felt his skin react to the chill in the air as he searched for a light switch. He didn't find one, and he wondered absently if this room didn't have power – luckily his eyes could see through the darkness far better than the average humans. Humming to himself, he walked through the gloomy room, searching for the row Sam had indicated.

He felt…good. No longer dying and happy that he was at least trying to help the brothers, instead of being just another burden – but the feeling evaporated seconds later. Jack froze in his tracks when the sound of harsh breathing reached his ears. "Sam?" He gasped; eyes wide with surprise when he caught sight of the hunter on the ground.

Moving quickly, Jack dropped down to his knees and took in Sam's appearance. The younger Winchester was leaning limply against a metal shelf, there was a dead flashlight by his thigh and a heavy book in his lap. Even through the gloom, Jack could see sweat coating his pale forehead – Sam's long hair sticking to it in clumps.

"Wake up!" Jack demanded, shaking his shoulders a little harder then intended, his heart beat faster when the hunter groaned but otherwise didn't stir. His mug discarded and forgotten on the floor, Jack fumbled for his cell phone to call Dean, panicking when he saw that there was no signal. He'd need to leave the room in order to call out. "Sam?" He tried again, flinching at how hot the other man's skin was – _that can't be right, _it was too warm for a human.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, eyes peeling open to mere slits. The younger of the two saw the glassy look and worked to keep his voice calm, trying hard to emulate Dean, "It's Jack, Sam. I think you're sick – I'm going to call Dean but first let's get you out of here."

Mumbling under his breath, Sam blinked and peered at him, "…Jack? Y'good?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jack answered, "Yes, I'm good. Come on, the floor is cold." Grateful for his natural born Nephilim strength, he wrapped one feverish arm over his shoulder and lifted. It likely looked ridiculous; Sam towered over him – but Jack was able to hold the taller man steady.

Sam protested, his free arm reaching back clumsily for the book he'd originally come down for, but Jack forced him forward, "I'll come back for it, I promise."

Too out of it to put up much of a fight, Sam dropped his arm and allowed the young Nephilim to lead him out of the room. Once in the hallway, Jack steered them towards the closest bedroom, pushing open Dean's door with a shoulder before leading Sam to the mattress. As soon as the Winchester was situated on it, Jack dug out his cellphone and dialed Dean with a shaking hand.

He stared at Sam as the tinny ringing started, biting at his nail when he saw how terrible the older man looked, made more obvious in the warm light of the bedside lamp.

"_Jack?" _

Sitting down beside Sam, he spoke in a rush, "Dean, when will you be back? I think Sam is sick – I found him in one of the storage rooms and he's really hot and I don't know what to do, I -"

Dean cut him off mid ramble, _"Whoa kid, slow down. What's wrong with Sam?"_

Taking a breath, Jack forced himself to speak slowly, "I think he has a fever, Dean. I went down to Storage C and found him on the floor. I think he might have gone down there last night, he isn't even wearing socks."

There were a few growled curse words through the speaker before Dean spoke again, _"Okay. I'll be back in under a half hour – I need you to grab the med kit and tell me how high his fever is. Did you move him, is he conscious?" _

Jack nodded, before remembering that the older man couldn't see him, "Yes – your room was closest, is that okay? I can take his temperature, he was talking for a little bit, but I think he's asleep again."

"_That's good, Jack." _Dean answered, the rumble of the Impalas engine audible in the background as the car accelerated, _"I have a small kit under my bed, grab the thermometer out of it and get me a reading." _

Setting the phone on the nightstand, Jack reached under the bedframe and pulled out the old duffle bag that the hunter usually traveled with. Rifling through its contents, he pushed aside clothing and a sheathed knife before finding the kit. Placing it on the comforter, Jack pulled out the thermometer and turned back to Sam to use it. The sick man didn't stir, and Jack felt his worry ratchet up as the thermometer beeped.

"Okay, it says 105.8." He spoke breathlessly, phone back at his ear. Jack had to pull the device away when Dean swore explosively on the other end, and his heart hammered with a fresh wave of panic, "Dean? Is that really bad?"

"_It's not good, but it was higher once before." _Dean replied, voice tense and urgent as he ordered, _"I need you to line him with cool compresses – there are a bunch in the pantry off the kitchen – now Jack, hurry."_

Jumping up, Jack ran for the door. Phone glued to the side of his face, he sped out of the room and ran towards the pantry, listening hard as Dean relayed instructions to him.

"_You need to place them at pulse points – you understand? Either side of his neck and temples, inner wrists – ankles and behind his knees. We need to get his temperature down before it gets worse. When he was talking, did he sound confused? Did he know where he was?" _

Arms now laden with the compresses, Jack used his shoulder to keep the phone against his ear. "I got it." He confirmed before answering the rest of Dean's questions, "He seemed confused at first, he thought I was you for a second. Are you almost back?"

"_Ten minutes, kid. You got this." _

"Okay," Jack replied uncertainly as he re-entered the bedroom, he hurried back to Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Sam? I'm going to cool you down now."

The long figure groaned; cheeks now clearly flushed with fever – creating a stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin. "Dean…" Sam mumbled, eyes twitching behind closed lids.

Jack bit his bottom lip, placing the cool packs in all the places that Dean had listed, wondering privately if he should try and use his grace to heal Sam. He jumped when Dean barked at him over the phone, realizing that he hadn't answered the man's latest round of questions.

"_Jack…Jack! Answer me damnit, how is he?" _

"He's keeps saying your name." He responded quickly.

"_Okay, I'm just about to pull up. Stay with him and I'll be down in five minutes, let him know I'm coming." _

Swallowing, Jack dropped his phone on the nightstand and took a moment to absorb Sam's condition. He hadn't really _seen_ Sam since he'd gotten sick himself, too out of it to notice much of anything. He could now see that the younger Winchester had lost some weight. There were dark bruises under his eyes and the beard he'd shaved off mere weeks ago was starting to creep back. It was clear that Sam had worked himself beyond the point of mere exhaustion.

"Dean will be here in a minute." He spoke quietly, worried eyes watching as Sam shifted restlessly on the covers.

As if on cue, Jack picked up on the sound of a door banging closed, and relief swept through him when he heard Dean bellow, "Sam? Jack!" Looking up, he watched the door expectantly, smiling shakily when the older man suddenly appeared.

* * *

Dean came to a stop when he finally reached his bedroom, green eyes assessing the situation before he stepped inside. Jack was looking up at him from his seat on the bed, his young face showing open relief at the sight of him.

"Sammy." Dean called softly, gaze sliding from the Nephilim to his brother. He strode to the other side of his bed and leaned over his younger sibling, worry clear on his face as he took in the state of the taller man. "I told you Sam, I told you that you needed to freaking sleep." He growled, but there was no malice in his tone, only concern.

He inspected the compresses that Jack had placed and looked up at him with approval, "Good job, kid. I've got it from here."

Jack looked down at Sam before his eyes darted back up to meet Dean's, he asked hesitantly, "Is…is it okay if I stay?"

Dean nodded at once, "Yeah, can you change out the compresses when they get warm? I'm going to start an IV."

"An IV?"

Rummaging through the first aid kit he'd grabbed from the car on his way in – it was stocked to the nines – Dean sighed, "He needs to rehydrate, the idiot has been living off coffee for weeks. Once he's better I'm gonna kill him…" He looked up, the needed supplies now in hand, and offered Jack a tired smile when he spied the look on his face.

"I knew he wasn't taking care of himself – but things got a little crazy, and I didn't push him the way I normally would've…" He shook his head, one hand coming to a rest on the long brown hair that Sam still refused to cut, "I thought he'd finally listened to me last night, but this was probably inevitable. I should have checked on him before leaving today."

Replacing a cold pack, Jack spoke, his tone laced with guilt, "I made him worse by getting sick."

"Don't blame yourself, kid. Sam was already dead on his feet trying to rescue me – so if anything, I'm the one who started the spiral."

Jack opened his mouth to argue back, but the conversation was interrupted when Sam began to mutter incoherently. It was clear that he was locked in some sort of inner turmoil as his head thrashed from side to side, and Dean bent forward at once, speaking so low that even Jack couldn't make out what he was saying.

Sam stilled after a moment, his eyes opening again and focusing blearily on his big brother. "Dean?" He mumbled, voice hoarse and strained.

"In the flesh, kiddo." Dean answered with a reassuring smile, "You've got yourself a fever, Sammy. I told you that you were working too much. It's alright though – I'm going to take care of it."

Sam shivered hard, eyes rolling around the room to take in his surroundings, his gaze slid right over Jack before landing back on his brother. "I…g-gotta…" He slurred, anxiety clear, "M-Michael…I n-need…"

Cupping his kid brothers chin, Dean forced Sam to focus on his face before speaking slowly, "Sammy, you're really sick. You need to let me help you for a little bit, okay? You can't save me if you fry your geeky brain from this fever – got me?"

Adams apple bobbing, Sam closed his eyes and whispered, "K-kay…" before going limp again.

Satisfied, Dean patted a too hot forearm before glancing back up at Jack, who looked absolutely freaked. "He'll be fine." He found himself saying quietly, even as he prepared to hook his brother up to the saline. He forced his own worry back down, staying calm for the sake of the scared kid that had somehow ended up as family.

Jacks voice was small when he spoke again, "Are…are you sure? Maybe we should call Castiel, to come and heal him?"

Dean took a moment to set up the IV, hanging the bag of saline off the headboard with a nod of satisfaction. He stood and walked around the bed, sitting beside Jack but still within easy reaching distance of Sam. Placing a hand on one skinny shoulder, he answered, "Already tried after I hung up with you. He's heading back, but it'll take at least a day, probably two."

"Maybe I should…" Jack trailed off, looking down at his palms.

Immediately understanding what Jack was trying to suggest, Dean shook his head vehemently, "No. We've got this under control, okay? Sam's been worse than this and come back no problem. He's tough as nails."

Fingers curling into fists, Jack tried again, "But he's suffering, I could make him better right away."

_Since when did I have two kids to take care of? _Dean mused, shaking Jack until the younger man looked up at him. "Listen, I don't want to see my little brother like this any more than you do. But Jack, the absolute _last thing _that Sam would want you to do is to burn off a piece of your soul for him. Trust me on this one."

Seeing something in Dean's eyes, Jack nodded once, "Okay, but you're sure he is going to be okay?"

Satisfied, Dean forced himself to smile a little, trying to exude confidence, "I've been taking care of him since before he could walk – I won't let him be anything other than okay." Turning back to Sam, he continued, "Can you go dampen a bunch of towels? We're gonna need 'em."

Standing once again, Jack nodded, "I'll be right back."

Waiting until the younger man left the room, Dean carded a hand through Sam's hair and spoke fondly, "Gotta get better fast, Sammy. The kid is attached and you're scarin' him with the whole sleeping beauty routine."

* * *

Throughout the rest of the day and into the night, Dean and Jack stayed with Sam, keeping him cool with the compresses and damp towels. Dean monitored his temperature carefully, finding himself muttering quiet reassurances to both his unconscious brother and Jack in turn.

The kid looked about ten times more scared than he had when he'd been at deaths door, and Dean could relate.

Leaning back in the chair he'd pulled to the side of the bed; Dean checked the latest temp reading with a sigh of relief. Looking over at Jack, who'd only left the room in order to grab supplies when asked, he waved the stick in his face. "He's at 99.8 and still dropping, well out of the danger zone now."

Jack visibly deflated, shoulders dropping as the tension in his lean frame faded. He smiled tentatively, "So he's going to be okay?"

"Yep, he'll be back to his normal self by morning. We'll probably need to tie him to the damn bed to stop him from heading back to the library."

Frowning, Jack's forehead creased in thought as he looked at Sam – who now slept peacefully in his big brother's bed. "Will we really?"

Huffing out a tired laugh, Dean shook his head and clapped Jack on the shoulder. "I'm joking, kid. Sam will be a little bitch about it, but we can probably convince him to take it easy. He's going to feel guilty as hell when he realizes what happened."

"Why would he feel bad?"

Sighing again, Dean stood up and stretched out his shoulders and neck. He offered Jack a crooked smile and shrugged, "Why? Cause he's Sammy. It's kind of his thing." Looking back down at his brother, he removed the last of the towels and popped open the pill bottle that contained the ibuprofen.

Jack watched in awed silence as Dean gently roused Sam, offering the younger hunter the pills with a calm word and a glass of water. Sam took the offered medication without a sound of protest, muttering his brothers name once before he slumped back to the pillow.

"Go back to sleep, Sammy." Dean encouraged, nodding in satisfaction when his brother did just that.

* * *

The following afternoon found Jack back in the library, flipping half heartedly through the book Sam had wanted so desperately the day before. Reading through the same sentence four times, he huffed in frustration and roughly pushed it away.

"What'd the book ever do to you?"

Jumping at the sound of the familiar voice, Jack looked towards its owner and grinned. "Sam!" He exclaimed, chair scraping against the wood floor in his hurry to stand.

Sam smiled back at him, pushing off the wall and walking closer to the younger man. His face was pale and there were still shadows under his hazel eyes, but he looked miles better than he had the previous day. "Hey."

"How are you feeling, should you be up yet?" Jack asked, moving around the table and assessing Sam with a critical eye.

Laughing, Sam sat at the table and shook his head, "You're starting to sound just like Dean. I'm feeling better Jack, thanks." He gestured for the kid to sit back down, scratching his freshly shaven cheek.

"I'm glad." Jack answered, voice serious as he took the offered chair beside the hunter. "You looked pretty…" He hesitated for a moment before finishing, "…tired."

"Yeah, listen Jack – I, I wanted to talk to you about that. I don't really remember much, but Dean gave me the rundown." Sam started, biting at the inside of his cheek and looking embarrassed, "I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

Blinking, Jack was silent for a moment before he smiled and nodded, "It's okay, Sam. You're better now, and it won't happen again. Right?"

"I'll try my best." Sam agreed, taken aback by the stern look on kid's face. _He's taking notes from friggen Dean, I swear. _He rapped the table twice with his knuckles, before pulling over the book that Jack had pushed away. Recognizing it as the one he'd wanted to pull out of storage, he glanced over at the Nephilim with a sheepish grin, "Thanks for bringing this up, by the way."

"You're welcome – I've been trying to read it, but…" Jack frowned, "I want to help you find something. So that we can help Dean."

Expression dipping slightly, Sam nodded, "Yeah, okay. I could use another set of eyes." Spinning the book around so that they could both read it, he flicked through the pages, pointing out various areas to the younger man that were worth looking into further. Both were soon absorbed, neither noticing when Dean walked into the room an hour later – arms laden with various snacks.

Setting the food down at the end of the table, Dean rolled his eyes at the lack of awareness and muttered under his breath, "Freaking kids."

**END**


	7. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7: Crash – The hunt goes off without a hitch, John takes the rescued victim to the hospital – his boys head on home…and then a drunk driver happens. 
> 
> This is a pre-series story; Sam is sixteen and Dean is twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: Just want to apologize for the late post, I was in Montreal for a wedding last week and didn’t have much time to write. 
> 
> Next prompt is partially finished, but I'll admit I'm struggling with it - I'm hoping to have it posted for next Thursday, to celebrate the season premiere, but we will see.

** Crash **

**.**

**.**

“Alright boys, I’ll take the girl to the hospital – that bastard had her for a few days and I don’t wanna take any chances.” John Winchester explained, dark eyes flicking over to the distraught teenager currently curled into the passenger seat of his new truck. “Sammy, take her car back – park it down the street from her parents. Dean, you follow behind your brother and then you both head on home.”

Sam caught the keys tossed to him, looking over at his classmate uncertainly, “She’s going to be fine, right?”

Dean clapped a calloused hand on his little brother’s shoulder and squeezed, “Course she will be, and you can bet your ass that she’s gonna love you come school Monday morning.” He grinned at the predicted eye roll he received and continued, “Aw c’mon Sammy, you took out that werewolf right in front of her, pretty badass little bro.”

_No, she’s going to think I’m a bigger freak than ever, _Sam thought morosely, but he kept his mouth shut and shrugged off the hand, muttering, “It’s Sam, and I’m like an inch taller than you.”

“Let’s get moving boys.” John interrupted them before they could start bickering, he was impatient to wrap up this job and get the night done.

“Yessir.” They spoke in unison, one tone obedient and the other borderline sarcastic. The brothers watched their father until John hopped into his truck, the engine roared as the pick-up bounced along the overgrown path and headed back towards the highway.

Sam appraised the rusty red Mazda 323 and sighed, after his most recent growth spurt the compact car would no doubt feel cramped. “Why can’t I take the Impala?” He whined, kicking at a small tire.

“Cause the Impala is mine, bitch.” Dean answered easily, smacking his brother upside the head, “Now let’s blow this popsicle stand, I hear a large meat lovers pizza calling my name.”

Rubbing the back of his head with one hand, Sam flipped his brother the finger before grudgingly squeezing into the coupe. Cranking the seat lever, he shifted into a more comfortable position before pushing the clutch in and starting the engine. Sam followed the Impala’s taillights and smirked when he was able to cut his big brother off at the main road, peeling out in front with a laugh.

Hazel eyes glancing up at the rear-view mirror, Sam grinned at the murderous look on his brothers face. He’d be paying for it later, but…_worth it._

* * *

“Stupid bitchy little brothers…” Dean muttered under his breath, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he glared at the dinky little lights of the car ahead of him. He was so going to get his brother back for that little stunt, _if he’d scratched Baby…_

Settling back into the comfortable leather, he turned up the music and sang under his breath. It’d been a good night, moody younger brothers withstanding. The werewolf had killed three girls over the past year, and it’d been Sammy who’d figured out that their guy was the captain of the football team.

Olivia Caden, a member of the yearbook club who shared classes with Sam, had gone missing three weeks after they’d hit town. From there it’d been easy to track down the old cabin, where the son of a bitch liked to stash his victims.

They’d gotten there just in time to save Olivia from becoming wolf chow, and Dean grinned at the memory of the evil creature falling away from its scared victim, dark blood pouring from the bullet Sammy had put in its heart. His little brother wasn’t always the most enthusiastic when it came to the hunt - but the kid was a crack shot and Dean knew he’d be a force to be reckoned with in a few short years.

_Assuming he doesn’t take off the second he finishes high school. _

Lips turning down, Dean tried to force the thought away. He knew he couldn’t lie to himself for much longer, Sam was smart. Smarter than smart – he could probably get into any damn college he wanted, and he deserved it. But the thought of him on his own out there…

Slowing in anticipation for the four-way stop coming up, Dean shook his head, _stop worrying about that crap. You’ve got almost a whole year to figure it out. _Sam wasn’t going anywhere just yet and he was acting like –

_SCREECH!_

Dean’s mind suddenly went blank, every errant thought disappearing. He had a split second to see what was about to happen before it did.

The Mazda –_ his brother_ \- had pulled out into the intersection, and Dean saw the blur of another vehicle as it blew by, flying through the stop sign as if it weren’t there at all. The large SUV clipped the smaller car, sending it spinning out violently in an explosion of broken glass and crushed metal.

Dean stomped hard on the brakes and was out of the Impala instantly – the Mazda, _Sam Sammy Sam Sam_, spun once more before slamming up against a thick wooden pole, and the older brother was running towards the ruined car before it even had a chance to settle back on its tires. “SAM!”

He nearly tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get to his brother, boots crushing small pieces of debris as he stumbled to the driver’s door. Taking a breath, Dean placed both palms on the glass and saw that Sam was limp in his seat, head turned to the right and away from him. Fingers fumbling, he grabbed at the handle and snarled when the door wouldn’t budge. “SAM!” He bellowed again, one fist pounding on the window.

“Woah! What the hell happened?!”

Dean twisted and caught sight of another driver, a dude probably around his own age who’d happened upon the scene. A quick look around revealed that the cause of the accident, the soon to be dead motherfucker in the SUV, had taken off. “Call for help!” He barked at the gawker before turning away.

“Sam, hey! Sam answer me you little bitch!” He pled through the thin barrier that separated him from his unconscious brother. Cursing, he moved around the hood to try and get in on the other side, but the passenger door was jammed up against the pole and in even worse shape. Dean was able to get a slightly better look at Sam, and his fear ratcheted up when he saw blood coating the angular face. Backing up, Dean took a slow breath and forced himself to think – he needed to get to his brother, he needed…_the crowbar!_

Scrambling back to the Impala, Dean ran by the stranger – grunting when the guy called out to his back, “Hey! People are on the way to help, can I…?” Fumbling with the keys, he wrenched open the trunk and pulled out the heavy bar before rushing back to Sam.

“Whoa, dude! Maybe you should wait, the ambulance is like ten minutes away.”

Greens eyes flitting around the ruined car, Dean bit at his lower lip, ignoring the babble behind him – he needed to break the glass to get to his brother, but he didn’t want to accidently hurt him. Crawling on top of the hood, he slid to the far left of the windshield. Using the crowbar to tap on the glass, he tried once more to rouse Sam.

Dean’s pulse quickened when he saw the kid stir slightly, but Sam went limp again almost immediately. Growling, the older hunter jabbed the bar into the windshield, satisfied when it caused the glass to crack on the first hit. _It shouldn’t shatter, they make the panes so that they won’t do that_, he reassured himself as he posed the crowbar over his shoulder again.

A few well-placed hits later, and he’d managed to remove most of the glass. Dean barely felt the small cuts to his palms that he received during the process, too busy watching his kid brother to care. Sam had shifted a few more times due to the noise, and the older sibling was desperate to get into the car.

Pulling at the hem of the single layer he was wearing, a thin long sleeve, Dean prepared to pull it off before climbing into the totalled Mazda – he’d need something to clean his brother up a little bit and he wasn’t prepared to go back to the Impala for his jacket. A thick sweater was suddenly tossed into his lap, and Dean blinked in surprise.

Glancing to the left, he saw the bystander looking at him, “It’ll work better than what you have on, man.”

“Thanks.” Dean nodded, he barely heard the guy introduce himself as Matt, grunting distractedly as he crawled his way into the mangled passenger seat.

Dean was forced to crouch on the balls of his feet, back pressed awkwardly against the crushed door as he faced his brother. Hesitant to move Sam, he brought up a hand and carefully brushed back blood-soaked bangs in order to get a better look at his face. “Sammy, c’mon kid time to wake up.” He murmured softly, straining to keep his voice calm. His heart leapt when the teen responded to the sound of his voice.

“…Ddd-n…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Rise and shine, Sammy.” He encouraged, wincing a little when the kid whimpered in pain.

Hazel eyes opened to slits, and Dean had to resist the overwhelming urge to pull Sam into his arms when he saw the hurt and confusion in them. He reached out and placed a gentle palm on the side of one cheek, ignoring the blood, and soothed, “Don’t move, kiddo. It’s going to be okay, there was an accident but you’re gonna be fine.”

“Wh…what?” Sam mumbled, lids fluttering as his breath quickened, “D-Dean? I…I don’t f-feel good.”

Dean swallowed against the ball building at the base of his throat, eyes pricking a little – because Sammy sounded about five years old and all he wanted to do was _fix_ this. “I know, I know Sammy. There was a car accident, but I’m gonna get you fixed up.” He tore his gaze away from the pale face to take in the rest of the damage, noting immediately that the steering column had pinned his brothers’ legs down, and Dean couldn’t see beyond Sam’s knees.

“Tell me what hurts, Sammy.” He instructed, green eyes trying to assess the damage even as Sam answered.

Sam breathed harshly and spoke in stuttered gasps, “My…leg. I, De-Dean I think it’s b-broken.”

Jaw clenched, Dean nodded tightly and silently wondered where the fuck the ambulance was. He wouldn’t be able to get Sam out without some help, not with how he’d been pinned. “Anything else? Sam?” He pushed, forcing the younger hunter to focus on him when Sam’s eyes rolled around wildly. “Hey! Look at me, don’t worry about anything else right now. C’mon man, tell me what else hurts.”

“I don’t…my head? I think…may-maybe my chest?” Sam mumbled; squinting in concentration.

The distant wail of sirens suddenly pierced the air, and Dean sighed in relief. “Okay, you hear that? The cavalry is almost here. Just don’t move, I mean it Sam. Stay still.”

“Hey! The ambulance is coming, I can see the lights!” Matt shouted needlessly from the road, and Sam jerked in surprise, gasping when the movement caused the pain in his body to flare.

Dean hissed when the kid whimpered again, and he growled furiously at Matt, “Hey, shut the hell up!” before turning back to his sibling. “Sshhh Sammy, I told you to be still. It’s okay.”

Sam’s eyes slid towards the stranger’s voice regardless “Whose t-that?” He chattered stubbornly, shivering a little as shock started to set in.

Dean tried to smile, “No one, just some guy who happened to drive by.” He held up the now bloody sweater, which he’d been using to dab away some of the blood on the teenager’s face and winked. “We might owe him a new shirt.” 

A lip quirked up in response, and Sam whispered back, “He can…h-have one of your b-band ones.”

“No way!” Dean responded in mock outrage, “Those are collectables, Sammy!”

Flashing red lights suddenly filled the gloomy interior, and both brothers squinted as a firetruck and ambulance came to a sharp stop in the intersection. Dean rubbed Sam’s arm, afraid to squeeze a shoulder – his normal avenue for comforting his younger brother – just in case it hurt him. “Here we go, Sammy.”

Dean watched as the firefighters approached and spoke as soon as they were within proper hearing distance, “Hey! My little brother is pinned, we need to get him out of here.” He shot a reassuring glance at Sam before focusing back on the emergency crew.

“What’s your name, son?”

“I’m Dean, this is Sammy.” He responded, appraising the man with a critical eye. The firefighter was broad, with dark eyes and stubbled cheeks – Dean was instantly reminded of his father, and he felt himself trusting the guy automatically.

“Okay, my name is Dennis – this is Athena, Betty and Jack. We’re going to get you boys out of there.” Dennis introduced himself, gesturing to his co-workers. “Dean, why don’t you tell us what happened?” He asked, moving around the vehicle so that he could get a better look at the younger of the brothers.

“Some dickwad thought it’d be smart to run the stop sign.” Dean growled, “He clipped the car and then took off. I was driving behind Sammy and saw the whole thing. When I get my hands on…”

“Dean, s’okay.” Sam murmured.

He wanted to argue, but Dean shook his head in response and fell silent instead. He’d focus on Sam for now, but later…

“Okay Sammy, we’re going to get that door off and see what we can do to get you out of there. Dean, if you aren’t hurt, I’m going to need you to get out of the car.” Dennis instructed.

The brothers responded at the same time.

“It’s Sam.” The younger answered.

“No fucking way, I’m not leaving Sammy.” The older growled.

Brows raised slightly at the stubborn tone in both voices, the firefighter spoke patiently, “Listen Dean, I know you don’t want to leave Sam – but Betty needs to get into the car in order to look at your brother. She can’t help him properly or ease any pain he might be in – if you’re taking up space.”

Dean hesitated, brotherly instincts at war with each other. He hated the thought of leaving Sam in the care of these strangers, regardless of who they were – but he also didn’t want the kid to be in unnecessary pain.

“I’ll be o-okay.” Sam whispered, seeing the internal conflict written all over his big brothers face, “G-go Dean.”

Hating himself, Dean muttered darkly under his breath before fixing the younger man with an intense stare, “I’ll be right outside the car, Sammy. Okay? You need me, you just holler, and I’ll come right back.”

“N-not a kid…” Sam grumbled, but Dean saw through the false bravado easily.

“I know, Sam. You got this.” He nodded, giving the teen one more reassuring look before forcing himself to crawl back out of the car. Dean slid off the hood and stood to the side, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He tried to keep an eye on his sibling, but the small paramedic crawled into the spot he’d just vacated and proceeded to block his view.

“Does your brother have any allergies?” She called out calmly, blue eyes focused on her patient as she got to work.

Dean shook his head, “No, nothing.”

“Okay, that’s good. Sam? My name is Betty, I’m going take care of you, Dean is just outside. I know that you’re probably tired of hearing this, but don’t move too much. Everything is going to be okay.”

Dean scrubbed a hand through his short hair in frustration, huffing out a breath as he listened to the medic reassure his brother, that was his job damnit! Spinning away, he walked a few short paces and thought about his dad. He’d need to reach him, but John had the only cellphone, he would need to call from the hospital…

“Excuse me, sir?”

Jerking his head up, Dean blinked in surprise at the police officer that had managed to sneak up on him. “What?” He snapped out distractedly, realizing that he’d wandered further away from the Mazda than he’d intended.

“I’m sorry to do this right now, sir. But the other witness wasn’t present at the time of the crash, and we need your statement.”

“Listen…” Dean’s eyes jumped down to the badge on the man’s chest, “Officer Davis, I don’t have time for this, I need to get back to my brother.” He turned away, hurrying back towards the car when he saw that the fire crew had managed to get the driver’s door off.

The cop followed on his heels and persisted, “I understand. However, this is time sensitive – the other vehicle likely took damage, and this may be our chance to find them.”

Fists clenched, Dean looked at the carnage spread out before him – from Sam all bloody and limp in the destroyed car, to the broken fragments that littered the asphalt, backdropped by flashing red lights. He stopped walking and turned back to the cop, nodding sharply. “Okay – but make it quick, Sam needs me.”

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, Officer Davis was handing Dean a pen and paper, asking him to sign off on his statement. The younger man had just taken the offered pen when a scream split through the night.

Papers fluttering to the ground, Dean felt his heart lurch as he spun away from the officer and towards the car. “Sammy!” He bellowed as he ran forward, green eyes wide with panic as he witnessed his little brother being pulled from the wreckage. “What’re you doing? You’re hurting him!” He raged; face lined with fury.

He was five feet away when Officer Davis grabbed him from behind, thick arms pinned Dean’s own to his sides and he automatically snapped his head back to catch the guy in the nose. The burly cop anticipated the move and stubbornly held on. “Sir! Calm down!”

Dean snarled, feet kicking into the air as he tried to break free.

Dennis hurried over to the struggling pair, trying to catch the younger man’s eye, “Dean! Hey! I need you to relax, son. I know that sounded bad, but we had no choice – we needed to get Sam free.”

The furious kid wasn’t hearing him, so the firefighter adopted a sharp edge to his tone and snapped, “Stop! You want to ride with Sammy to the hospital? Calm down, _now_.”

Dennis’ words penetrated through the haze - he sounded exactly like John Winchester when he was barking out orders, and Dean immediately stilled. “Let me go.” He breathed; green eyes fixed behind the firefighter. The cop loosened his grip, and he shook his way free – stepping away from both men as he rushed back to Sam’s side.

Betty was leaning over Sammy, now laid out on a gurney, and she looked up when she saw Dean approaching. “Sam, your brother is right here, he’s going to come with us to the hospital, isn’t that right, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah Sammy. You hangin’ in there?” Dean asked, grabbing for his brother’s clammy hand. The kid somehow looked worse, his left leg was strapped up, and the older sibling could see blood and something white poking through tattered jeans. _Open fracture, _Dean realized with horror, teeth grinding together.

“…D-Dean…?” His little brother panted, his bloody and pale face damp with sweat.

The voice sounded small, much younger than Sam’s sixteen years, and Dean responded automatically. He murmured reassurances as he walked with the gurney, climbing into the back of the ambulance without breaking stride. He watched as Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, not breaking contact with him even as whatever drugs Betty had administered finally started to work.

Dean looked over at the paramedic, who’d followed him into the ambulance. “How is he?” He asked, voice low in the hopes that his brother wouldn’t hear.

Taking his cue, Betty answered quietly, “What happened out there…I’m sorry about that. There’s a limit to what we can administer without going through the proper channels, and that can take time. We had to prioritize getting him out of that car before restricted blood flow and infection became an issue. He’s hurting, and his leg will need to be looked at more thoroughly – but your brother here is a fighter.”

The ambulance rocked slightly as it moved forward, and Sam groaned in discomfort. His nose scrunched as he gasped, and his hand tightened around Dean’s fingers, the small dose of meds clearly doing jackshit for his injured leg. He tried to turn his head towards his big brother, but the neck brace prevented the movement and his heartbeat quickened from the combination of pain and stress.

Leaning forward, Dean squeezed back and spoke softly, “Right here, Sammy. Try and enjoy the ride little brother, we’ll get you on the good stuff soon. You’ll get a real kick out of morphine.”

The teen didn’t open his eyes, but his tense frame loosened slightly, and the heart monitor calmed.

“That’s it, kiddo.”

* * *

John took a breath of the warm spring air as he stepped out of the hospital and into the ambulance bay. It’d taken longer than anticipated to get away from the teenager and her parents, the inquisitive nurse hadn’t helped his case either. If it hadn’t been for the young girl and her quick thinking -impressive given the trauma she’d just been through, he’d probably still be in there trying to lie his way out of a visit to the local cop shop.

Scratching at his beard, his dark eyes slid across the parking lot, scanning for any sign of danger out of sheer force of habit. Striding forward, John hoped the boys hadn’t eaten all the pizza – knowing that Dean tended to get ferociously hungry after a clean hunt. His eldest had a blackhole for a stomach.

An ambulance screeched up to the sliding doors, and John stepped aside automatically to allow them room. He was walking away when the back doors to the bus swung open, and his heart skipped a beat when an extremely familiar figure jumped out of the back. Frozen, his mouth dropped open in shock, “Dean?!”

His eldest was only fifteen feet away, but Dean showed no sign of hearing him and John realized why a split second later. He spied a mop of messy brown hair, lean body limp on a gurney that the paramedics were already moving into the building. “Sammy?” He croaked, feet carrying him towards his children.

He picked up the pace, confusion and anxiety written all over his normally stoic face. _What the hell happened?! _John growled when a group of workers crowded Dean and Sam, and he pushed his way through until he was able to grab his eldest by the shoulder. “Dean!” He spoke sharply, “Dean, what’s going on?”

His son didn’t acknowledge him at all, his attention was fixed on his brother. John swallowed when he was able to get a glimpse of Sam through the press of bodies, seeing the bloody and bruised face – his neck covered by a collar to keep his spine stabilized. “Sam?” He called out, eyes narrowing when the teenager remained limp and unresponsive.

The medical team wheeled Sam through a set of double doors, and both Winchesters found themselves being held back by an orderly and a petite paramedic.

“No, I need to be with him! Betty, he needs me.” Dean protested; face turned towards the medic pleadingly.

Betty shook her head sympathetically, light eyes coming to a rest on John before she spoke, “Right now he needs the doctors to assess him – they can’t do that properly if you get in the way, Dean. They’ll take you to him as soon as possible, I promise.”

Sensing that his eldest was about to put up a fight, John placed a firm hand on his shoulder and spoke, “Dean, listen to her. I need you to tell me what happened while the doctors take care of your brother.”

He felt Dean jump at his touch, and he released his son as the younger man spun around in surprise.

“Dad?”

John nodded, “Come on, lets go sit down and you can explain what’s going on.” The paramedic slipped away as Dean nodded in mute agreement, allowing his father to push him into the closest chair.

“Dad…I…” Dean started, staring down at his muddy boots.

“Son, I’m going a little crazy here.” John prompted, angling his chair so that his knees were nearly touching Dean’s. He watched as the kid’s hands clenched into fists, before smoothing out across jean clad thighs.

“We were driving back, just like you said.” Dean tried again, voice low as he looked into his fathers eyes, “Sam was out in front, it wasn’t his fault dad. He made his stop and was making the turn – but some asshole ran the stop sign and swiped him. That stupid little Mazda didn’t stand a chance…I tried to get him out, but he was pinned. Dad, I’m sorry.”

John felt his heart ache for his older son, watching as his face crumpled, green eyes overly bright – before the younger hunter dropped his head back into his hands. Leaning forward, he gripped both shoulders and gently shook the kid until Dean finally looked back up at him. “He’s going to be fine, kiddo. This isn’t your fault.” He spoke calmly, having no idea if he was lying or not. He didn’t even know what Sam’s injuries _were _– but he spoke confidently and offered Dean a reassuring smile.

John knew that he wasn’t always the best father to his boys – but this? This he could do.

* * *

It wasn’t long before a tired looking doctor in green scrubs came looking for them, John barely had time to finish filling out the bogus paperwork before his name was being called. Both Winchesters stood automatically, attention fixated on the man while everything else faded to an inconsequential blur.

“Mister Gardner, I’m Doctor Perrin, I treated your son Sam upon his arrival to the emergency room. First off, let me start off by saying that your son is doing just fine.”

John shook hands with the physician, shooting Dean a warning look when the younger man opened his mouth impatiently. "How is he, his injuries?" He asked, one hand gripping at Dean's shoulder in silent support. 

“Sam suffered an open compound fracture to the left tibia, an extremely painful break – however it was a clean one. His vitals are nice and stable; we’re taking him up to surgery in a few minutes to set the bone and clean the site.” Doctor Perrin explained, flipping through the chart in his hands before offering them a reassuring smile, “He took a knock to the head and we had to put in a few stitches, but he escaped without a concussion. X-Ray showed no broken ribs, but a few were cracked from the force of the airbag.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Dean pressed.

Tapping a pen against the clipboard, the doctor nodded, “Barring any complications from the break, yes. Sam is young and healthy, and he should recover fully within a few months. But he’s going to be really sore for quite a while.”

John smiled in relief, “Sore we can deal with. When can we see him?”

Hesitating, the doctor looked from the father to the son, “We’re sedating him now for the surgery, so he’s probably already down – but I can take you to him for a few quick minutes if you’d like.”

“Lead the way, doc.” Dean spoke at once, already heading towards the doors that the doctor had previously walked through.

* * *

Three days later found Sam poking moodily at a cup of green jello. He looked down at his leg, currently wrapped up in a soft cast, and winced when it throbbed.

“You gonna eat that?”

Automatically smacking away the hand that had just reached over to snag his dessert, Sam’s eyes landed on his brother. Dean shook his hand and grumbled, “I was just asking, bitch.”

Sam snorted, spooning up some of the jello before replying, “No you weren’t you jerk, you literally just tried to take it.” The younger Winchester knew that Dean had seen the pain flash across his face, pretending to steal the food in order to distract him – but his leg continued to throb despite the effort.

“You okay?” Dean finally gave in and asked.

One shoulder hitching up in a half-hearted shrug, Sam answered, “I guess. How long before we’re outta here?”

Leaning back in the visitor’s chair, Dean fiddled with the empty coffee cup in his hand. “Doctor wants you here for a few more days, to make sure that you’re clear of infection.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dean.” Sam huffed impatiently, picking at the thin hospital blanket, “When are we blowing town this time? Dad hasn’t been here all morning; I’m guessing he found another hunt?”

Dean laughed and shook his head, “Dude, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Sam blinked, angry reply dying on his lips, “I’m sick of – wait, what?”

“Sammy, you’ve got months ahead before you can walk on that leg properly. We aren’t risking your recovery like that – dad hasn’t been in yet because he’s moving us into a new place, one without stairs.” Dean explained patiently, smile widening at the look on his kid brothers face.

“We’re…we’re staying here?” Sam asked slowly, the ache in his leg fading as he turned this new piece of information over.

“Yep, for at least a few months – enough time for you to finish out the school year.” Dean confirmed.

Thinking about school, Sam glared back down at his immobilized limb. “Too bad I’m going to miss a bunch of it.” He sighed, gesturing to the cast with a grimace.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, kiddo.”

Hearing the smugness in Dean’s tone, his brow furrowed, “What’d you mean?”

A soft knock interrupted them, and both Winchesters looked up to see Olivia standing just outside the room. Sam immediately turned red, hazel eyes suddenly wide as he looked desperately at his older brother.

“Hey Sam.” Olivia greeted, a shy smile on her pretty face.

Dean winked at him before rising out of the chair and stretching, “Well, I think I’ll go grab something from the cafeteria, since you won’t share your lunch with me.” He turned to Olivia and offered her a wide smile, “Hey Olive, I was just telling Sam how you offered to bring his work home from school while he heals up.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Dean fought down a chuckle when his brother mouthed incredulously, _“Olive?!” _

“He’s real grateful, aren’t you, Sam?” Dean pressed, waggling his eyebrows at his younger sibling.

“I…I…yeah!” Sam answered a little too loudly, clearing his throat before continuing at a normal volume, “Yeah, thanks Olivia. Really, you don’t have to do that. Also, I’m really sorry about what happened to your car.”

“Oh, that’s okay Sam. Honestly, it was getting pretty old…” Olivia answered, stepping into the room hesitantly, “…and you sort of saved my life, so you know, no worries.”

Humming under his breath, Dean brushed by the teenaged girl, noting with amusement that she looked almost as embarrassed as Sam. “I’ll be back soon, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sammy.”

“DEAN!” Sam shouted at his back, clearly mortified.

Laughing outright, the older brother shook his head as he stepped out in the hallway, listening for a second as Sam tried desperately to play off the moment.

_“I’m so sorry, my brother is an idiot. He just likes to embarrass me…”_

.

.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt: judyann - I am not sure if you write them as teens but maybe teen Sam getting into a bad car accident. If you don't want them as teen’s then prefer Season 1. I will leave the rest up to you.
> 
> Thanks everyone, as always reviews are greatly appreciated and loved!


	8. Stitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injured on a hunt, Dean needs to put a row of stitches in Sam's scalp. Trouble is, he needs to shave away some hair to put them in. Sam's resistance to this goes beyond simple vanity. Angsty boys, PTSD for Sam.  
.  
.  
Takes place during Season 7, right after Castiel eases the Hell memories.

**Stitch**

**.**

**.**

Sam was disturbingly pliant as Dean manhandled him from the car. His long frame sagged, and the older hunter had to scrambled to keep the kid from hitting the pavement and smacking his head. _No more of that tonight, no sir. _It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be last – in which Dean needed to half carry his brother into a crappy pay by the hour motel room.

It never got any easier, though.

"Okay dude, one step at a time." Dean encouraged as he looked around them, satisfied when he saw that the parking lot was deserted.

"Mmmgh…" Sam slurred.

Huffing, Dean staggered alongside the younger man, "Didn't quite catch that, Sammy. What – whoa!" he exclaimed, grabbing a fistful of tan jacket just in time to prevent Sam from taking a nosedive. "Man! You wanna make that gash in your head even bigger? It's already the size of the freaking Grand Canyon!" He bitched, unimpressed when a set of hazel eyes attempted to glare at him.

"Try that again when both of your pupils are the same size, little brother." He grunted, hefting one ridiculously long arm around his neck. Holding on to Sam tightly, in case the idiot got wise and tried to pull away again, Dean finally managed to get them into the room. He deposited his brother onto the closest mattress as gently as he could manage, cracking his neck once the weight was gone.

"You weigh a ton." He grumbled, sitting at the edge of the bed. Sam lay curled on his side, turned towards Dean with easy access to the head injury.

"S'm'cle."

"I dunno Sammy," Dean replied, opening up the first aid kit, "Pretty sure that little gut of yours ain't muscle." He grinned at the string of slurred curse words his brother mumbled into the comforter, Sam was a fitness freak – and teasing him when he was hurt was an excellent way to distract him when he was in pain.

Leaning forward, Dean used the bedside lamp to get a better look at the wound that started at his little brother's temple and curved down by his ear. He winced in sympathy as he used a wad of gauze to soak up some of the blood – the ghost had gotten Sam but good. "Why do they always go for your head? It's either that or your damn neck." He muttered under his breath. It hadn't been fun – watching from twenty feet away as the spirit shot projectiles at the kid.

Dean had managed to dislodge the bookcase that had had him pinned to the floor, but not in time to prevent a sword – yes, a fucking sword- from clipping Sam across the head. His brother had dropped like a stone, and there had been so much blood…

"Shud'p."

Blinking, he cleared his throat and continued to inspect the gash, "I didn't say anything."

The indignant snort was as muffled as the short reply, "S'not your f'lt."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean agreed absently, focused back on the task at hand. The wound was too deep for butterfly strips, but the edges were clean and perfect for… _ah hell_ _he isn't gonna like this. _"Hey, Sammy? Listen – it's gonna need stitches." He spoke hesitantly, voice low as he put a palm on the kids' shoulder. He felt the muscle beneath his fingers tense, and sighed.

"It'll grow back, Sammy." He tried to reassure, grip tightening when Sam made to sit up, "Hey, no – you have a concussion so stay put."

"I don't…" Sam started, trailing off and groaning when his attempted movement caused a roll of nausea.

Shaking his head, Dean chided, "Told ya." He felt the muscle beneath his fingers go lax as Sam sunk deeper into the mattress, his face now buried in the pillow. "I'll try and hide it, okay? I should be able to shave in underneath." He frowned when his little brother didn't respond – the kid was still awake – Dean could always tell, but Sam's posture screamed resignation and defeat; it was clear that he wasn't ready for this.

"Sammy." He said the name gently, usual gruffness gone, "We can go to the hospital if you want – maybe they can do the job without cutting your hair."

They wouldn't be able to, Dean knew – he was excellent at putting in stitches, better than most – he'd been doing it since he was nine years old, after all. Of course, Sam knew this just as well as he did, and the younger Winchester shot down the suggestion flat.

Rising from the bed, Dean collected everything that he would need, angling the bedside lamp so that he could see the wound as clearly as possible. Resting one palm flat between Sam's shoulder blades, he immediately picked up on the subtle tremor beneath his fingers. "Sammy, tell me what's going on." He spoke with increasing concern, because as much as the younger man liked to keep his hair girly, he'd never reacted so strongly to having it cut before.

Hell, he'd put Nair in Sam's shampoo when they were teenagers and sure, the kid had been _pissed _for _weeks _but he hadn't been like this. "Sam, c'mon dude you know that you can tell me." He really wanted to patch his brother up, but Dean wasn't willing to start until Sam was calm.

To an unknowing eye he wouldn't even seem that upset, but Dean could see that Sam was about five seconds away from a breakdown. _But why?_ Crouching on the floor so that he was eye level with his brother, Dean tried again, "Look at me. Sammy, please?"

Head turning, watery hazel eyes peered over at him and Dean tried for an easy smile. "Heya Sam. You gonna tell me what's going on kiddo?"

Eyes closing again, Sam's voice was barely above a whisper as he replied, "D'you have to?"

"I wouldn't if there were any other option." Dean confirmed unhappily, "I really need to patch you up before you lose more blood, the gauze ain't gonna cut it for this one." _Don't make me do this without your permission, Sammy._

"Kay." Sam answered, face once again buried into the pillow. His attempt to muffle the catch in his throat might have worked if he'd been trying to hide it from anyone aside from his big brother.

"Sammy." Dean prompted once more, eyes widening with alarm when his brother's shoulders hitched in a clear sob. Leaning in at once, he ran one calloused hand against Sam's bicep and spoke soothingly, "Hey, hey. No Sam, it's okay. You don't need to talk about it, I'm sorry."

Whatever was upsetting his brother, it went w_ay _beyond a haircut and a mild concussion. There could be only one thing that could elicit such a strong reaction.

The Cage.

"M'sorry it's stupid." Sam choked into the pillow, as if he knew where Dean's mind had gone.

Tamping down the combination of rage and helplessness that always threatened to overwhelm him whenever he thought about his baby brother stuck in Hell with Lucifer and Michael, Dean took a deep breath and shook his head vehemently. "No, don't you dare apologize Sam. Not for that, not ever."

"They…they tore it out, all of it. It wasn't even the worst…" Sam trailed off hoarsely, eyes turning to catch his brothers again.

Dean understood completely, physical pain had been the easiest part of his own Hell Tour. The psychological torture and humiliation were a whole other fucked up story. Jaw clenched so hard that it ached, Dean had to force his teeth apart to speak again, "I understand, kiddo. Listen, we'll figure something else out, okay? Don't worry about it."

Maybe he could try the butterfly strips – or maybe if he packed on enough gauze and towels…

"S'ok Dean."

Snapping his attention back to Sam, Dean spoke hesitantly, "Sammy, I can find another way."

Tired and bloody, the kid still managed to quirk pale lips up into a tiny, albeit shaky, smile. "No other way."

Opening his mouth to protest, Dean thought better of it and his shoulders slumped. There were no two ways about it, Sam was bleeding, and the wound needed to be stitched in order to stop it. The fact that Michael and Lucifer had ripped his kid brother's hair out in order to humiliate and degrade him…

"…I don't want to do this." He spoke out loud without meaning to, lips twisted downwards. He blinked when a clammy hand patted his forearm, and he swallowed back the lump building at the back of his throat. "I'm sorry Sammy, I have to – but I really don't wanna. You know that, right?" Dean knew that he sounded like a little girl, but the older hunter didn't give a damn. He was about to do to Sam the same thing that had been inflicted on him in The Cage. It went against every protective instinct he had.

He had to do it to help Sam, but that hardly mattered. Sammy had just barely regained his mind after nearly losing it to the hallucinations, and now here came big brother – about to make the kid relive some more of those fucking memories. _If I'd gotten to that sonuvabitch ghost two minutes faster…_

But Dean hadn't, and now here they were.

Hating himself, Dean gently brushed away strands of bloody hair and prepared the area that needed to be shaved. The least he could do was make it as quick and as painless as possible. Picking up the buzzer, he froze instantly when Sam grabbed at his wrist and missed, courtesy of the concussion.

"Sammy, do you trust me?" He asked, voice low and serious.

"Always." Sam answered without a moments hesitation, before adding, "Just…don't make me look stupid, 'kay?"

Huffing out a short laugh, Dean nodded his head, "I promise. I won't even make fun of your girly hair for the next two months, okay?"

"Six." Sam bartered automatically.

"No way, dude. I'll give you four months, tops." Dean argued back, thinking privately, _I'll give you whatever you want. Six months, freaking five years – whatever you need to make this easier._

"Fine, jerk. Four months." Sam agreed, eyes drifting shut. His body relaxed into the bed, ready to let his big brother patch him up.

"Okay Sammy, you got yourself a deal."

.

.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to season premiere night, I hope everyone enjoys the show! Note that I will not be accepting prompts for S15, I'd like to keep these stories spoiler free for those who aren't able to watch the new episodes right away. I likely will write episode tags (I usually get inspired after watching an episode) - but those future tags will be separate from 'Let's Hurt Sam'.
> 
> Ugh, I'm 31 today guys - which means I'm officially closer to forty than twenty *cries*
> 
> The Prompt: Susan on A03 - Sam is hurt during a hunt, ending up with a huge gash in his scalp that needs stitches. Dean has to shave Sam's head to do the stitching. Physical and emotional whump for Sam.


	9. Pertussis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9: Pertussis – Sam and Dean are working a case, the ghost is targeting people with illnesses and dialing them up to kill. A simple job – until the younger of the two catches what should be a harmless cold.
> 
> Takes place in Season 11.

* * *

**Pertussis**

**.**

**.**

"I found us a job."

Sam jumped a little, not expecting the wad of newspapers that were suddenly dumped on top of his computer keys. He glowered at his big brother when the other man grinned at him. "You didn't scare me." He muttered petulantly, ignoring Dean's snort of disbelief as he picked up the first paper and scanned through it. He shuffled through the rest of the pile, hazel eyes quickly catching the articles his brother had circled.

Hooking a chair with one booted foot, Dean turned it around before dropping into it, arms folded across the top. "Goes back eighteen years." He spoke, nodding to the older and yellowing papers that Sam had just sorted through.

Frowning, Sam looked up, "All of these deaths are natural causes."

"Now I know you didn't miss what I saw right off the bat, geek boy." Dean teased, knocking his knuckles against Sam's temple lightly. His grin widened at the irritated swat he received in return, shaking the sting out of his fingers.

Leaning away from the table, Sam shrugged, "Of course I didn't. Ten deaths over the last two decades, all of them patients diagnosed with potentially life-threatening illnesses, all dead within a week of presenting symptoms."

"….and?" Dean prompted; brow raised expectantly.

Rolling his eyes, Sam continued, "…and most of them were diagnosed as having months, if not years, to live. Looks like most of them would've recovered completely, they shouldn't have died at all."

"Exactly!" Dean nodded, open palm smacking the polished surface of the table, "It's not even that far away, maybe a day's drive. Pack up your gear and we can head out."

Sam hesitated, eyes glancing over at the laptop, protesting when his big brother closed it with a snap, "Hey! I was in the middle of something."

Sliding the computer out his reach, Dean answered sternly, "You've been parked at this table for weeks trying to figure out a way to stop Amara. You need a break and I need to get the hell out of here – c'mon Sammy."

Scratching his cheek, Sam sighed and relented. He was no closer to finding a way to fight The Darkness and truth be told, he wasn't feeling that great – some fresh air would probably help clear his head. A few days away might be good, he could come back with fresh eyes. "Okay, you win. Let me go grab my bag and I'll meet you back here in ten minutes." Rising from his seat, Sam stretched out his aching arms and back before heading out of the library.

"Make it five!"

* * *

"It was the strangest thing." The doctor mused, pen tapping against his desk as he continued, "Gina was diagnosed with a mild case of bacterial pneumonia. She was prescribed the normal round of antibiotics with instructions to come in for a follow up visit at the end of the week."

Shifting restlessly, Dean doodled on his pad of paper while Sam took actual notes, the nerd. "She didn't make it to that appointment though, right?" He prompted impatiently, ignoring the cut eye Sam shot him. They'd been in this office for almost an hour and the doc was taking _forever_ to get to the damn point, so what if he was getting antsy?

The older man, oblivious to the exchange, shook his head, "No, her mother called for an ambulance the next day. What started off as a mild case turned into a double lung infection in less than twenty-four hours. I've been practicing medicine for nearly forty years and I've never seen anything like it. She died two hours after being admitted. Poor girl was only eighteen years old. I can't help but think that if I'd only…"

"It wasn't your fault Dr. Noble," Sam interrupted him gently, "There was nothing you could've done."

Clearing his throat, Dr. Noble nodded his head in hesitant agreement, "Yes, of course you're right, Agent Thompson. It just seems like this has been happening a lot lately. I'm sure you gentlemen heard about poor Richard Coggin? He had tongue cancer, but it was caught in its early stages. Rich was scheduled in for surgery to have the small tumour removed…" The doctor closed his eyes and sighed, trailing off.

The brothers didn't need the older man to elaborate – they'd already been to see Richard's widow. His wife had found him dead, his throat swollen from the cancer that had spread to his lymph nodes seemingly overnight. The autopsy report had determined that his body was riddled with the disease – but scans taken three days before surgery had shown no signs of the cancer advancing.

Standing, Sam and Dean shook hands with the physician. "Thanks for your time." Sam smiled before turning to follow his brother, who'd already disappeared through the door. He coughed deeply and suddenly into the crook of his elbow, blinking in surprise – he'd been feeling a little off for the past few days, but this still felt out of the blue.

"Are you feeling okay there?" Dr. Noble asked kindly.

"Yeah, just something in my throat." Sam answered with a shrug, thanking the man once more before hurrying after Dean.

* * *

"You thinkin' a ghost?" Dean guessed, dumping hot sauce over his fifth slice of bacon and pepperoni pizza. He looked towards the bed, where his little brother lay sprawled out with his computer balanced on his lap.

Sam hummed and nodded absently, eyes focused on his screen, "I might have something, but I'll need _– cough –_ to do some more digging."

Head jerking up, Dean dropped his pizza and stared hard at Sam, "You gettin' sick?" His brother _did _seem paler than normal.

Waving a hand in the air, Sam answered dismissively, "No. Maybe. Relax Dean, it's just a _\- cough - _cold. You had it last week, probably just caught it from you, so thanks for that."

"You do realize that we're hunting something that likes to get homicidal with people who are sick, right?" Dean demanded, making to get out of his chair and stopping only when Sam slipped off the bed and headed towards him instead.

"A cough isn't exactly pneumonia or cancer, dude. If it was going after people with a common cold everyone in this town would be dead already." Sam responded patiently, rooting through the duffle on the floor. Pulling out the first aid kit, he showed Dean the cough drops before popping one into his mouth. He didn't say anything further, but his expression asked it all, _satisfied? _

Picking his food back up, Dean took a large bite and grunted around a mouthful of bread, sauce and cheese, "Fine. But if you start feeling worse – you better damn well tell me."

"Yes mom."

Sam ducked and laughed, avoiding the crumpled and sauce covered napkin that was thrown at his face.

"You are such a little bitch, Samantha."

* * *

It took Sam a further three hours of researching to figure out who their ghost was. That was the good news – the bad? His seemingly minor head cold no longer felt so innocent. "So," He rasped, rubbing at his watery eyes and steadfastly ignoring the increasing concern growing on his older brothers face, "Madison Turnell was twenty-seven years old when she died _\- cough - _and get this sh-"

Breaking off mid sentence, Sam sneezed three times in rapid succession. Grabbing the napkin sitting by his still untouched dinner, he wiped at his nose before looking back at Dean. "I'm fine." He tried, even as the older hunter sat down beside him, hand out and ready to feel his forehead.

Dean snorted, "Don't try and tell me this is all some sort of freakish coincidence, I'm not that much of an idiot." Ignoring his brothers protests, he placed his palm against a too warm forehead and sighed, "You have a fever Sammy, and you sound like you're trying to cough up a lung."

Shoulders slumping, Sam admitted, "Okay fine_ \- cough, cough -_ maybe the ghost got to me _\- sneeze -_ but I don't know why. She goes after people with illnesses that might kill. This is still just a stupid cold."

_Unless it isn't, _Dean though grimly. All sorts of horrible non-supernatural diseases sprang to mind, and when he thought about the Hell Trials that had nearly killed his brother…_No, don't go there_. "Tell me about Madison, maybe you missed something."

Exasperated, Sam shook his head and replied, "I don't think I did, man. She died twenty years ago, right before the first _\- cough -_ death. Eerily like Gina Steinbeck, diagnosed with pneumonia that should have been treatable. There were complications _\- cough, cough -_ and she died from it."

Rummaging through the first aid kit, Dean mused aloud, "Let me guess, she died quick? It spread too fast for the hospital to stop?" Pulling out a thermometer, he waved it at his brother and ignored the full out bitchface he received in response. "C'mon man, we need to know how sick you actually are." He insisted.

"Fine." Sam grumbled irritably, snatching the small stick out of Dean's hand, "But you aren't taking my temperature like I'm friggen' five years old. And no, Madison didn't die quick."

"No?" Dean blinked in surprise, waiting for the younger man to elaborate.

"She was in the hospital for weeks and just got worse. From what I can gather from the online medical records, she really suffered." Sam explained as he slid off the bed and headed towards the bathroom, swaying slightly on his feet.

Understanding dawned on Dean's face, "Ah, so a ghost that's killing out of some form of twisted mercy. Probably thinks she's doing all these people a favor, taking them out quick."

Pausing at the bathroom door, Sam nodded and met his brothers gaze, seeing the worry clear on Dean's face. "She's buried at the local cemetery, burning the bones should stop her."

_Yeah, _Dean thought privately, _but why did she go after you, Sammy?_

* * *

"Stay in the car while I take care of this."

"No."

"_Sam."_

"_Dean."_

"You're sick, Sammy."

"So?"

Growling, Dean twisted in his seat and glared at Sam. The kid stared back at him defiantly, and he opened his mouth to give his brother a list of reasons why his staying in the car was the best plan. Ready to start with,_ I'm your big brother and I'm always right, SO stop being a brat. _

"I'm not going to sit _\- cough, cough -_ in the car and leave your back unprotected, Dean." Sam continued hurriedly, his eyes went from narrowed to wide in a heartbeat and the older hunter cursed under his breath.

He hated when Sammy threw that ridiculous puppy-dog eyed look at him, it was cheating. "Fine!" He snapped, "But you're on guard duty, you got that?" _You so much as sneeze the wrong way and your ass is back in the car. _

Sam grinned in triumph and shrugged, "You wanna dig out the coffin by yourself? Be _\- cough -_ my _\- cough -_ guest."

It didn't take them long to locate the grave. The cemetery was small, but it was fortunately also secluded and on the edge of town – no one would be stumbling across them tonight. Dean immediately started digging, one eye keeping his brother at the corner of his vision.

Sam settled nearby, shotgun resting comfortably in his grip as he kept a lookout for the spirit.

By the time Dean's shovel clunked against rotting wood, he was tired, sweaty and annoyed. The ghost hadn't shown up yet, but he could hear Sam getting worse and he was anxious to finish this stupid hunt. "Okay bitch," He snarled under his breath, "it's time to toast your ass."

Of course, _of course_ that's when the spirit decided to show up and play. The sound of the shotgun firing cracked through the air, and Dean brought down the point of his shovel against the coffin with considerable force. "Sam!?" He bellowed out in question.

"Good!" Came the raspy reply, and Dean continued his work, hurriedly breaking up the lid. The shotgun fired three more times, but more concerning to the older brother was the deep, barking cough he could hear coming from Sam.

It sounded worse than bad.

His skin prickled, and Dean heaved himself up and out of the hole – suddenly desperate to see his brother and make sure that Sam was okay. His heart skipped when he immediately found Sam on his knees and doubled over, the shotgun was slack in his hands, his head bowed as the spirit stood over him.

"SAM!" Dean yelled as he bolted forward, flinging salt at the ghost and forcing it to dissipate. He fell to his knees and grabbed at his brother, trying to force the kid to look up at him. Sam was coughing horribly, his chest heaving as he fought to take in air. Whatever the ghost had done, the kid sounded about ten times worse than he had back at the motel. The bitch worked fast.

Dean could see the blueish tinge shading his brothers' lips and he gritted his teeth, fully regretting ever making Sam leave the safety of the bunker for this fucking job. "Sammy, I need you to breathe." He spoke sharply, squeezing both shoulders tightly, "C'mon now, nice and slow – you can do this, little brother."

The coughing eased after a handful of seconds that felt like hours, and Dean sat back on his heels, giving his brother some space to spit and gag. "Better?" He asked anxiously.

Sam nodded jerkily and wiped at his mouth – both brothers spotted the blood on his fingers when Sam pulled his hand away, and they stared at each other in silence. "Dean…" The younger of two spoke, hazel eyes uncertain.

Memories of what had happened the last time his little brother had coughed up blood played like a loop before his eyes, and Dean spoke roughly, "Stay right here – don't move. I'm gonna burn this bitch and then we are going to the hospital." He stood before Sam could argue and ran back to grave, salting the remains and pouring on a liberal amount of gasoline.

"_I want to end their pain."_

Head jerking up, Dean glared at the spirit. She stared back him with dark eyes, confusion and sadness on her face. She had the look of someone who'd once been heavyset but had lost a lot of weight in too short a time. Exactly like someone who'd gotten sick and wasted away after weeks in bed.

"_I can stop the suffering."_

"That's not up to you." Dean bit back, a quick glance to the left showed Sam still on his knees, and his blood boiled, "You don't get to take my brother away from me." Flinging the now flaming book of matches into the coffin, he stepped away as the blaze whooshed to life, rushing back to his sibling even before the spirit disappeared with a wail.

"Think you can stand?" He asked his brother, supporting the taller man with a gentle touch when Sam immediately tried to rise. "Take it slow." Dean chided, exasperated.

"M'okay." Sam gasped, wincing. His face was pinched with pain as he struggled to breathe properly, and he leaned in towards his brother without conscious thought.

Dean immediately noted how Sam curled inward as if his ribs were injured, and he frowned, "Did she touch you at all?" He brushed light fingers over his brother's ribcage, not finding any obvious breaks – not that that meant anything, Sam was wearing too many layers and the graveyard was too dark to get a proper look.

Sam shook his head mutely, unable to voice his answer as another bout of horrible, racking coughs started up. The ghost was gone, but she hadn't taken the sickness with her. Involuntary tears escaped from the corners of his eyes, but the taller man didn't notice as he sagged in Dean's grip. Exhaustion fell over him like a thick blanket and it was all he could do to not fall back to knees and curl up on the damp grass.

Cursing and tightening his fingers on his brothers' jacket, Dean hustled Sam back to the car and deposited him into the passenger's seat as gently as possible. They were leaving a helluva mess behind, but that was the last thing Dean cared about as he hurried around the Impala's hood and slid behind the wheel.

"Hang in there Sammy, we're gonna get you fixed up." Dean reassured through gritted teeth. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the car whined in protest, but Dean only had ears for the gasping breaths coming from beside him as his little brother struggled to breathe.

* * *

Sitting by Sam's bedside some two hours later, Dean tried to distract his brother with stupid stories. The staff had taken one look at the kid when they'd arrived at the small clinic and immediately admitted him. Dean had refused to leave his side as the doctor and nurses worked, taking vitals and drawing blood, relenting only when they had needed to take Sam in for an X-Ray.

Now they were waiting on the test results, and Dean had to admit that finally telling Sam the story about what had _really_ happened with that waitress in Tampa (it was embarrassing, even by his standards) had been a way to distract himself, too.

Sam was blinking over at him drowsily, his breathing had improved somewhat, the nasal canula providing him with an extra boost of oxygen – but otherwise he wasn't hooked up to anything. Normally Dean would take that as a good sign but fear still gnawed at his gut. His kid brother was pale and clearly exhausted from the violent coughing spells, and he hadn't forgotten about the blood Sam had choked up earlier. The doctors wouldn't give him anything stronger than over the counter meds until they knew what was wrong with him.

"…now you know Sammy, never trust a chick who carries padded cuffs in her purse." Dean finished, plastering on a cheerful smile for added effect.

Sam offered him a small grin in return, seeing right through the fake cheer even as he played along, speaking hoarsely, "Already_ \- cough, cough, cough - _knew that." He tried to say more but was overcome by another fit, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to breathe around the attack.

Jumping from his chair, Dean sat on the edge of the small bed and put an arm around shaking shoulders. "Easy Sammy…" He murmured, not pulling away until the cough subsided, and his brother settled back against the pillow. _What the hell is wrong with him? _

Sam spoke, knowing what the older man was thinking, "Listen, Dean – if this is something, you know, something we can't fix…" He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence when he saw his big brothers face spasm.

Dean shook his head jerkily from side to side, "We aren't going there Sammy. Not yet, okay?" There was a pleading quality to his tone as he held his brothers gaze, and he relaxed only when the younger man nodded.

"Yeah, okay." Sam agreed softly.

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

Startled, the Winchester's watched apprehensively as the doctor entered the room, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. They immediately recognized her as Dr. Balen, she'd first treated Sam when they'd arrived earlier.

"Hey doc." Sam greeted tiredly, eyes flicking to Dean when his brothers hand encircled his wrist and didn't let go.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, walking to the free side of the bed to get a better look at him.

"Tired, a little sore."

Nodding expectantly, Dr. Balen worked in silence as she continued to look her patient over.

Dean broke the quiet after a few minutes, impatient, scared and unable to go another second without knowing what the hell was wrong with his brother, "Spit it out, doc. We've been waiting hours, damn it."

"Dean." Sam murmured under his breath.

His lips pressed together in a thin line, Dean squeezed his brother's wrist and nodded. He spoke again, adopting a lighter tone, "Please just tell us what's going on with him."

"Of course, I'm sorry." Dr. Balen answered, tucking a greying piece of brown hair behind one ear before continuing, "Sam you are going to be just fine."

Both men sagged with relief, Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and asked, "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?" _Then why did the freaking ghost go after him? Why was he coughing up blood?_

Nodding, the doctor smiled and spoke confidently, "Have either of you heard of Pertussis, more commonly known as Whooping Cough?"

"You mean the thing little kids get?" Dean asked, bewildered.

"That's the one." She confirmed, flipping through the chart in her hands, "Adults can contract the infection as well, although it's pretty rare for it to progress this far, especially this fast. Children are usually inoculated against Pertussis when they're babies, as it can be fatal for them. The lab results confirmed that Sam does not have immunity."

Dean exchanged a look with his brother, who brought up one shoulder in a _what can you do? _shrug.

"Our mom passed when Sam was six months old, and our dad was mess for a while." Dean sighed, silently cursing his father. He loved John Winchester; he really did – but what if Sammy had caught this thing when he was baby? He shuddered at the thought.

"I'm sorry to hear that, however It's very possible that you did receive the vaccination, Sam. Immunity can fade over time if an appropriate booster shot isn't administered." Doctor Balen explained with a kind smile.

"What can we do to treat it?" Dean asked.

"Unfortunately, we've moved past the point where antibiotics can be of help. The best thing now would be plenty of bedrest, and when I say plenty I'm not kidding, at least three weeks."

Groaning, Sam rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and huffed, annoyance plain on his pale face.

Doctor Balen looked at him sternly, before turning to Dean, "I can't be more serious about this. Pertussis is not usually fatal for adults – however in rare cases complications can occur. I don't want to see Sam back in here with pneumonia. The X-Ray showed two hairline fractures to his ribs from the coughing fits, and we absolutely must avoid these turning into breaks."

Suddenly feeling very cold, Dean nodded his head and tried to find his voice. "We hear you, Doc. I'll tie him to the bed if I have to."

* * *

"I can make the drive back to the bunker, Dean." Sam protested, even as he allowed his brother to gently steer him towards the motel bed. He groaned a little as he was lowered onto the mattress, out of breath and too exhausted to even fend off his sibling when Dean pulled off his boots and tucked him under the blankets.

After a further hour of being monitored at the clinic, Doctor Balen had finally released him with strict homecare instructions. Dean was refusing to make the one-day drive back to Lebanon, instead booking them into a motel for the next week. He'd driven only far enough to put some distance between themselves and the town where they'd destroyed the spirit.

"No." Dean grunted stubbornly, "We are staying put for at least a few days. We aren't fucking around with this, Sammy. You coughed so hard you tore up your throat and cracked your ribs, this isn't even gonna be a discussion, so don't even try it."

"You heard the doc, I'm gonna be _\- cough, cough -_ fine." Sam mumbled between laboured breaths, peering up at him blearily.

Throwing the duffels on the floor, Dean grabbed the pillows from his own bed and used them to prop his little brothers head up, "Better?"

Now breathing easier, Sam answered, "M'fine Dean. Take your pillow back."

"Nah, I'm not tired anyways." Dean waved a careless hand, sitting on the opposite bed, "And you are not fine, little brother. You probably would've been if I hadn't dragged you out on this hunt, though."

"Don't be stupid, Dean. This _\- cough, cough -_ isn't your fault. I was sick before we got here, you heard the doctor. I've probably had it for_ \- cough, cough -_ at least a week."

"Yeah, and we are gonna have a talk about that too, Sam. You should've told me you were getting sick." Dean answered with a frown.

"Sorry." Sam apologized quietly, one uncoordinated hand wiping clumsily at his eyes.

"It's okay." Dean responded automatically, "I'm the one who's sorry. That spirit whammied you and made you way sicker. If we'd just stayed home none of this would have happened. You probably wouldn't have even noticed this was more than a run of the mill cold."

"Dean…"

Scrubbing a hand through his short hair, Dean continued to berate himself, "If we hadn't gotten rid of Madison's spirit when we did, you'd probably be in the ICU with fucking pneumonia. I should have seen that you were sick before we left Lebanon, if I hadn't been going stir-crazy sitting in the damn bunker I _would _have noticed."

"Dean!" Sam tried again, putting more volume behind it to gain his brothers attention. He groaned when this caused another round of coughing.

Off the bed in a flash, Dean was at Sam's side and lifting him up, muttering quietly to him in a soothing tone until the fit passed.

Exhausted, Sam slumped back onto the small mound of pillows and blinked at his brother slowly. "Stop blaming yourself." He demanded hoarsely, once he regained some of his breath back.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop, don't get all worked up, relax." Dean spoke quickly, one hand resting for just a second on Sam's unruly hair before he pulled it away. "You need to sleep, kiddo." He encouraged, once he was sure his little brother wasn't going to have another coughing spell. Settling against the cheap headboard when Sam shifted slightly, Dean ignored the second empty bed – he knew he wouldn't be using it tonight.

"M'not a damn kid." Sam grumbled, even as his eyes closed obediently.

"Dude, you have Whooping Cough, enough said." Dean teased lightly, a fond smile on his face. _You're my kid, Sammy, no matter how old you get. _

"Jerk…" Sam slurred, one hand brushing up against his big brothers' hip as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Turning on the TV and setting the volume to a dull murmur, Dean placed his hand back on Sam's head, fingers carding through the dark strands whenever his younger brother stirred. "I got you, Sammy." He spoke quietly.

_Bitch. _

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
The Prompt: Jenjoremy – I'm not posting the full prompt due to length, but in a nutshell Jenjoremy requested a story in which Sam develops whooping cough, because it's likely John didn't stay up to date on vaccinations once Mary was killed. Dean is getting more and more worried about Sam, who keeps insisting that he's fine (of course). Finally, Sam fractures a rib from coughing so hard and Dean drags him to a clinic. It's too late for antibiotics to help, but they do a get a diagnosis and some nice cough medicine. Cue Dean gently teasing Sam for getting a "children's disease.
> 
> Note: I'll admit I'm not too sure about my work here, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless Jen (and everyone else)! I'm a little nervous about posting this one.
> 
> Whooping Cough usually lasts for weeks, but for the sake of time I decided to go with a case fic and accelerate the illness.  
And yeah, okay – it got sappy at the end – so sue me! Lol


	10. Location

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10: Location – Demons get the drop on the Winchesters; they've heard about the secret bunker and they want its location.  
.  
.  
Set in Season 8, right after the boys discover the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: I can never keep track of where Cas is in each season, powers/no powers, wings/no wings blah! Sorry if I mix it up, lol.

**Location**

**.**

**.**

"You're making a big mistake." Dean snarled, muscles tense as he struggled against the restraints that bound him to the chair, "Do you know who we are, you black-eyed sons of bitches?"

The demon laughed, the pretty girl that it was possessing spat at his bare feet before looking over at her two companions. "The Winchester boys, of course." She answered, hand cutting through the air, a look of disgust on her face. "You won't escape those chains, so you might as well stop trying. Now tell us where it is."

Dean ignored the question, eyes murderous as he spat back, "Go back to hell, bitch."

Clucking her tongue, the demon sighed in mock disappointment, "Is that any way to speak to a lady, Dean? My name is Petra, remember? I'm fairly certain I mentioned that right before I bashed little brothers head in." She stepped to the side, looking pointedly at Sam – who was similarly bound right across from Dean.

However, unlike his older brother, Sam had yet to wake up since they'd been jumped by the demons. Dean felt his jaw tick with a combination of anger and worry, his eyes slid away from the demon and focused back on Sam. He'd been hit hard, there was a sheet of blood coating the left side of his head, running down his cheek and soaking the collar of the flannel shirt he'd put on that morning.

"Tell us where it is, Winchester."

Focusing back on the demons, Dean attempted to shelf his worry for Sam. It wouldn't do either of them any good, but if he could keep the bastards distracted…maybe they would leave his little brother alone. He just needed some time to figure out a plan. "No idea what you're talking about." He lied smoothly.

Petra hissed and leant forward, placing her small hands on the arms of metal chair and shoving her face right into Dean's personal space.

"Damn, you need a breath mint or something." He grunted, nose wrinkling in distaste.

"You will tell us." The demon spoke confidently, ignoring the jibe.

Shrugging, Dean answered calmly, "Nah, probably not. You've heard of us – that means that you know we have an angel friend. Name's Castiel – he tends to get pissed when demon spawn mess with us." He was lying through his teeth, he hadn't heard from Cas in months and he hadn't been answering their prayers, but Dean was banking on the demons not knowing that little fact.

He was in luck, Petra whirled away and started snapping orders at the two demons. "We aren't done, Winchester." She threatened over one shoulder, before hurrying out of the decrepit barn with her flunkies in tow. Dean was still, listening hard as they exited, he let out a breath of relief when he heard the unmistakable sound of three car doors slamming before the truck engine started.

"Good one."

The low voice made Dean jump a little, realizing a split second later that it was Sam. "Hey, how long you been awake?" He asked with a relieved grin.

Head coming up, Sam flashed his brother a return smile – his eyes pinched with pain, "Long enough to hear you freak them out with a potential angel visit. Should buy us some time. What do they want?"

"The location to the Bunker." Dean answered with a slow shake of his head.

"If they were able to bypass the warding and get inside…"

Nodding in agreement, Dean didn't need Sam to finish his sentence. "Yeah, it wouldn't be good. We need to get the hell outta here." To emphasize his point, he jerked against his bonds again, cursing when he found them just as tight as before.

The demons had been careful about keeping them secure, the chairs were solid and heavy, bolted down to the floor. Both brothers had been stripped of their shoes and jackets, their pockets turned inside out – not a single lock pick or weapon left.

An hour slipped away quickly, the crunch of gravel outside signalled the return of their captors and they both swore at the sound. They hadn't made any progress on freeing themselves.

"Shit." Dean cursed.

"Pretty much." Sam agreed with a frustrated sigh.

Both heads turned when Petra stalked back inside, alone this time. She headed straight towards the brothers, her long legs covering the distance within seconds. "Nice to see you awake, Sammy." She purred, chocolate brown eyes flashing to black as she ran a finger across his head wound. Grinning when she heard Dean curse and thrash at her back.

"It's Sam."

Straightening, Petra ignored them both, fingers now coated with Sam's blood, she turned towards Dean with a sadistic smile. "My boys put up angel warding, handsome – no one will be coming for you. Now, tell me where your secret hidey-hole is, and I'll make your deaths quick." She stepped out from between the brothers and directed her demand to both.

"Go to hell." They responded simultaneously.

Flicking a curtain of black hair over one shoulder before sighing, Petra moved and positioned herself behind Sam. Her eyes never breaking contact with Dean, she placed one small hand on top of Sam's head and smiled when the younger Winchester tried to jerk away from her.

"Get away from him." Dean growled furiously.

"No, I don't think I will. That is, unless you give me the location to that treasure trove you're hiding." Petra answered sweetly, continuing after a short moment of silence, "I guess we'll need to do this the fun way, then. I'm curious…I know you've both been Downstairs, and that Sammy here spent some quality time with the big boss – I wonder, how much pain can you take, Sam?"

Dean snarled and thrashed at the threat to his brother, calling the demon every single nasty thing he could think of. Sam, however, answered indifferently – hazel eyes calm and focused on his sibling, "You wouldn't even crack the top hundred, not even on your best day."

Petra clapped and grinned with enthusiasm, "Here's the thing about me, I really enjoy projects – you know, something…_challenging_." Using her demonic strength, she broke the chains wrapped around Sam and grabbed a fistful of his shirt in her hands before tossing him violently across the barn.

It happened within the space of seconds, before Sam even had time to register that he'd been cut loose in the first place.

"Bitch! You wanna go a few rounds, you mess with me!" Dean yelled out desperately, throwing more insults at Petra's back as she turned away and headed towards where Sam had landed in a crumpled heap.

Kneeling beside his limp form, Petra ignored Dean and grabbed a handful of Sam's brown hair, wrenching him to his knees and forcing a small gasp of pain. The knife in her free hand was small, but when she played it along his neck it flashed brightly in the gloomy barn. "What do you think, should I go play with big brother instead?" She breathed into his ear, too quiet for Dean to hear.

"Go screw yourself." Sam responded; voice equally low. The blade nicked his neck and he felt a fresh wash of blood trickle down from his Adams apple to the hollow of his throat. He kept his eyes on the demon, trying not to listen as his brother raged helplessly from thirty feet away.

A slow, wicked smile stretched her dark red lips as Petra forced him up, moving his larger frame as easily as if he weighed no more than a feather. Her eyes flashed and Sam found himself slammed into a wall with enough momentum to take the air out of his lungs.

"SAM!"

"I'm fine." Sam tried to respond, the words coming out in a breathless wheeze.

"He says he's fine Dean – but don't worry he won't be for long." Petra sang out cheerfully, knife twirling between her fingers.

"I'll tell you where it is! Leave him alone and I'll tell you, damnit!"

The demon stopped just short of Sam, tapping the tip of her blade against her chin thoughtfully. "I don't think you will, Winchester." She finally answered after letting the tense moment stretch out, "I think that you'll lie – send us into a trap, maybe?"

"You touch my brother again and I will rip you apart piece by piece, and that's the fucking truth you bitch." Dean swore, voice shaking with fury.

"Oh, but Dean – I'm just getting started."

* * *

It was the longest thirty minutes that Dean could remember enduring in a long, long time. By the time the demon was finished, Sam was bloody and non-responsive – a crumpled heap on the ground. Dean had yelled himself hoarse, his threats turning to pleas and then to outright begging.

Petra stood over Sam, looking down at him with a look of genuine disappointment on her face. "I really thought he would go longer than that." She complained, looking over at Dean.

Dean swallowed convulsively and didn't respond; he kept his eyes locked on his brother and was relieved to see the slight rise and fall of Sam's upturned shoulder. Dean couldn't see his face, the younger man's sweat soaked hair was covering it, but he doubted the kid was still conscious after what he'd just been through.

Stretching lean arms over her head, Petra continued to speak, "Now, I'm going to give you some time to think about what comes next…if you don't give me what I want." She gave him a level look before offering him a wink.

"No, don't - " Dean started to protest, breaking off and flinching when the demon delivered a vicious kick to Sam's stomach. His brothers body jerked with the hit but otherwise he didn't respond. Attention solely focused on Sam, Dean didn't look up at Petra, ignoring her completely when she left the barn with a cheerful, "See ya soon, handsome."

Waiting until he heard the rumble of the truck engine, Dean called out urgently, voice barely above a whisper just in case there were still demons lurking outside, "Sammy? Sam?"

Dean blinked in amazement when Sam responded instantly, groaning as he shifted on the barn floor. "Take it slow, Sammy." He encouraged quietly, teeth clenched as his little brother struggled to rise onto his hands and knees. His flannel was in tatters, hundreds of tiny but painful cuts littered his chest and shoulders – and his face…

"Stupid demon." Sam rasped, spitting up a glob of blood. He turned his head carefully and looked at Dean, his normally white and even teeth stained with red – a gaping hole visible where his right canine should be, "Too cocky."

"Christ Sam, you look like shit. Good thing I'm the pretty one." Dean joked weakly.

Sam snorted in response and groaned at the spike of pain that shot through his entire body. "Don't make m'laugh." He gasped out, after taking a second to gather himself.

"Sorry." Dean apologized quickly, before asking, "Think you can get me out of these? We need to get the hell out of dodge, before the bitch comes back." _And you need a hospital, like yesterday. _

"Yeah, just…just gimme a second." Sam answered, taking a few steadying breaths before crawling forward, not trusting himself to stand.

"Go slow." Dean cautioned, eyes tight with worry for Sam and fury for the bitch that had done this to him. Once Sam was close enough to reach out and grab his knee, he spoke again, working hard to keep his voice level – now wasn't the time to let the black rage encroaching at the edge of his vision take over, "We're gonna need something to pick the lock."

Silently, Sam held up small hairpin with his free hand, lips twitching into a small smirk when he saw the surprise on his big brothers face, "Got it off her earlier." He explained, before maneuvering to the back of the chair and out of Dean's sight.

Whistling, Dean held still as Sam went to work on the lock, "Smooth move, little brother. I didn't even see you lift it." Of course, he'd been a bit distracted – watching his little brother being tortured tended to do that to him, but even still… "Good work, Sammy."

Sam grunted in response to the praise, and a few short minutes later Dean felt the chains wrapped around his body loosen. He moved quickly, ripping the binds away before swinging around the chair and kneeling beside Sam, who was now sitting on his ass with his head braced against his palms.

Eyes intent, Dean inspected the younger man and felt his anger surge anew as he got a closer look at the kid's injuries. _That bitch was dead – DEAD._ "How are you even moving, Sammy?" He muttered, he wasn't really asking, his brother was the biggest badass he knew, but Sam replied regardless, "M'okay. Looks worse than it is – like I said, she was too cocky."

Shaking his head, Dean wrapped a gentle arm around his brothers back, "You might change your tune once you get a good look at your face, kiddo. Hamburger meat comes to mind." He lifted as he spoke, muttering words of encouragement to Sam as his brother gasped and swayed.

"Easy, easy…"

"We need to go." Sam spoke after a moment, leaning heavily on Dean as the world spun in lazy circles.

"No shit, c'mon – we're gonna take it slow. I wish we had a freaking weapon; I'd take anything with a pointy end right about now." Dean grunted, moving his brother forward with careful steps. They made it to the exit without incident, and he braced Sam up against the wall gently, "I'm gonna take a look outside and see what's what."

"Dean, I can go with you." Sam spoke, his words beginning to slur as he slumped against the wall, body trembling with pain and exhaustion.

"Not a chance, man. You can barely stay upright, just let me scout it out quick, okay? Promise me you won't move." Dean demanded.

Sighing, Sam nodded and agreed hesitantly, "Five minutes and I'm coming out after you."

"Course you are." Dean smirked, patting Sam on the shoulder before slipping outside, peering through the darkness.

There was no sign of the demons, and Dean felt the tension in his shoulders loosen slightly. Still cautious, he worked his way around the old barn, searching for either a car or something to defend themselves with. He felt his frustration mount when he found jack, and he hurried back to where he'd left Sam - they would need to hoof it. "Sammy." He called out as he neared the door, "Looks like we're clear, but I can't find us a ride. Are you okay to – Sam?"

Heart plummeting, Dean stared at the spot where he'd left his little brother standing scant minutes ago. "Sam!" He called out anxiously, listening hard for a response.

"Dean, over here!"

Racing towards Sam's voice, Dean started cussing him out the second the taller man materialized out of the shadows. "You little bitch, I told you to stay put." He growled, forcing himself to remember that the kid was injured and that he couldn't take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

"I found the angel warding." Sam explained, pointing towards the Enochian carved sloppily on the trunk of an old tree.

Dean saw where Sam had picked away at the bark to destroy the power of the warding and sighed, "We haven't heard from Cas in months, Sammy. He isn't coming, and we don't have time to sit and wait on the off chance that he decides to show. Now c'mon, we need to get mov-"

"Dean."

Spinning around quickly, Dean's words died in his mouth when he caught sight of the object of their conversation. "Cas?" He asked, stunned.

"I don't have much time." Castiel spoke, blue eyes sliding from Dean to Sam, his lips pursing with concern. The angel moved forward quickly, raising a hand to each brother, touching them both on the forehead.

* * *

Dean staggered when he found himself suddenly standing right beside the Impala, his arm flailed out and instinctively caught his brothers' shirtsleeve. "Damnit, Cas." He snarled, "Warn a guy before you do the flying shit." He looked over at Sam as he spoke, relieved to see that the angel had worked his mojo and healed him.

"…and thanks." He added, turning to face the angel and blinking in surprise when he saw that Castiel was nowhere in sight. Looking back at Sam, he muttered, "What the hell?"

Sam shrugged, "I dunno, lets just be glad he showed up."

Giving his brother another once-over, Dean asked, "Are you feeling okay?"

Running his tongue over his teeth, Sam nodded in satisfaction when he noted that they were all there and accounted for. "Yeah, I'm good. Tired, but otherwise I'm okay, Cas took care of it all."

"Good, you can get some sleep in the car." _And once you're rested up, we're tracking down that she-demon bitch and making her pay. _

"Yeah, sounds good to me." Sam agreed, expression serious – letting his big brother know that he wasn't just talking about catching a nap in the Impala. He shot Dean a quick smile when his brother nodded, before moving closer to the car. Reaching out for the door handle, Sam realized two things instantaneously, one – he was still missing his shoes, and two…

"Oh, Sonuvabitch! I don't have the damn keys!" Dean exclaimed, looking at Sam from across the Impala's roof.

"The demons probably stashed our crap somewhere when they jumped us." Sam guessed, before adding, "I guess we'll need to break a window and hotwire her."

Dean stared at him, mouth dropping open in horror at the mere suggestion, "Are you insane? I'm not putting her through that."

"Dude, it's not like it'd be the fist time – the car will be fine." Sam answered reasonably, rolling his eyes when his brother shook his head vehemently.

"I'm not vandalizing her that way, nu uh, no freaking way." Dean maintained stubbornly, before shouting up at the sky, one hand gesticulating wildly, "Cas! CAS! You get your feathery ass _back _here!"

"CASTIEL!"

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
.  
.  
The Prompt: DanaScully103 on A03 -Some sort of Sam hurt; Dean made to watch scenario. Sam must save them both while injured. BAMF!Sam and Worried!Dean. Hope it strikes your fancy.
> 
> Note: Hope you enjoyed, Dana! And everyone else, of course!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please drop me a review and/or a prompt :-) This is cross-posted on Fanfiction.net - so I'm taking suggestions from there as well.
> 
> Best,  
Ashley


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